Firebird
by Red8436
Summary: Antonin Dolohov's purple-flamed curse had unexpected consequences when it failed to kill Hermione Granger in the Department of Mysteries. Without regular access to his touch to soothe the remnants of the curse, she'll die... AU from end of OotP.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter world.

* * *

 _A mighty flame followeth a tiny spark_

 _Dante Alighieri 1265-1321_

Harry shifted his body position slightly so that his wandlight fell more effectively over the Marauder's Map. His perusal of the map had become a common occurrence in the last few days – ever since the fight in the Department of Mysteries. Despite his physical exhaustion, sleep had been very difficult to come by for him thanks to the thoughts that plagued his mind: Voldemort, the Order, the Prophecy and, most painfully of all, Sirius…

Though, of course, he wished they'd never been harmed at all, his best friends still recovering from their injuries in the Hospital Wing was both a blessing and a curse because, while their absence meant that he didn't have to answer any questions he wasn't ready for or see their sympathetic faces, Harry also felt extremely alone. Yes, there were three other boys currently sleeping in the dormitory with him but, without Ron in the bed next to him, it just wasn't the same and sleep was hard to come by. So, in an attempt to distract himself and quieten his brain to lull himself into a state of sleep, he had spent his recent nights systematically looking through the map.

He had finished the lower levels and the ground floor and trained his wand over the first floor, knowing exactly where he wanted to start. However, Harry felt an anxious lurch in his stomach when the pale light from his wand fell over the map's depiction of the Hospital Wing. His breath paused and he stared in alarm at what he saw. Or, more accurately, at what he _couldn't_ see: Hermione's name was missing.

Clamping down on an increasing sense of panic, he quickly turned his gaze to the Gryffindor girls' dormitories, telling himself that she must've been released from Madam Pomfrey's care without anyone informing him. (He knew that wasn't true, that Hermione wasn't nearly well enough to be discharged, but that was the only thing his brain could think of to stop himself from freaking out.)

Hermione wasn't in her dormitory.

Sitting up quickly, Harry began a furtive search for his best friend's name on the map as his mind attempted to reassure him that there was likely to be a reasonable explanation for her absence. As each room, corridor and floor he swept his wandlight over failed to reveal Hermione's name, his sense of unease grew until his breath came in quick pants and his heart thundered in his chest. He was in the process of getting to his feet, planning to see Professor Dumbledore at once about his concerns that Hermione was missing from the castle (lateness of the hour be damned) when he finally spotted her name.

He frowned, his concern was only moderately lessened – _What was she doing in the Astronomy Tower?_

Harry gripped his wand and the map tightly as he hurried from his dormitory; her reasons for being there may turn out to be perfectly innocent, but there was no way that he wasn't going to investigate. Getting from Gryffindor Tower to the site of their Astronomy lessons wasn't a direct route and he ran as fast as he could, feeling inordinately anxious as every second ticked past with Hermione up there alone. Nobody called at him from the portraits as he tore down the corridors – or maybe they did but he was running too fast to hear them – and it was late enough that he didn't have to worry about prefects patrolling the floors.

His muscles burned with exertion as he began his frenetic climb to the Astronomy Tower and he held the map in front of his eyes to check that Hermione was still there in an attempt to distract his body from the strain. The words _Hermione Granger_ were still unwavering in their position atop the tower and he blew out a (primarily exertion-caused) breath in relief.

When he finally burst into the tower, his eyes searched wildly around the curved structure until they placed her figure on the edge of the parapet.

"H-Hermione," Harry panted heavily, clumsily jamming his fist into his side in an attempt to stave off the stitch that was burning through his side. In his fatigue and his relief to see her (though he wasn't surprised; _the map never lies_ ) it took Harry a few seconds to realise that something was _off_. Well, more _off_ than the whole situation already was.

Obviously, the fact that Hermione had climbed all the way to the highest point in the castle when a few hours ago she could barely adjust her position on her hospital bed without wincing, was quite concerning. So, too, was the fact that she there, in the middle of the night, wearing nothing but a simple nightdress that stopped at her knees and did nothing to protect her bare feet. It might be late June but the evening was still chilly and Harry saw that her riotous curls were being blown about by a strong breeze. The rest of her body, however, remained eerily still, and she made no move to show that she had heard him call her name. The most unsettling thing of all, though, was the very feeling in the air around him. A few years ago, he might not have noticed it, but his knowledge of different types of magic had grown so much, especially in the past couple of years, that the atmosphere made the back of his neck prickle with discomfort.

Harry walked towards Hermione cautiously, dropping the map to the floor so that he could hold his wand out in one arm and raise his other hand towards her in a pacifying, comforting manner, despite that fact that she'd shown no indication of being aware of his presence so far. "Hermione!" he called again, louder this time. It made no difference. "Hermione, it's me, Harry." Nothing. He took a few more steps towards her and saw, with alarm, just how close she was to the edge of the tower. Her bare toes curled around the edge of the stone and if she took just one step forwards or lost her balance she would fall to her death…

Although he was now only a few feet away from her, he took no chances and cast a strong summoning charm to wrench her away from the edge. He half caught her, his arms closing clumsily around her midriff as he struggled with the sudden burden of her admittedly-light frame. She made no protest about his actions, making him even more worried. "Hermione!" he said desperately, lowering her to lie on the floor and then scrambling around her to finally look at her. But, when he did, he quickly saw that his anxieties over her well-being had been justified. Her cheeks were flushed and sweat lined her face. He could see droplets of it running down her hairline and it glistened along the skin of her neck as he traced his wandlight over her. From his close proximity next to her, he could feel the heat radiating off her body and he would readily (and optimistically) conclude that the explanation for her bizarre behaviour was simply due to a fever, were it not for her eyes.

Harry had seen many terrifying things in his short life and the sight of the purple flames dancing in his best friend's eyes as she gazed unseeingly into the night was only surpassed by the blood-curdling scream she released when he held a trembling hand to her burning cheek.

* * *

Madam Pomfrey didn't know what to do.

Harry saw it in her expression as she gazed down at the still burning – but, thankfully, no longer screaming – Hermione. His best friend had mercifully stopped screeching the second Harry had removed his hand from her face. Recalling that she hadn't screamed when he'd caught her after the summoning spell, Harry had tentatively put his hand on the part of her upper arm that was covered by her nightdress. She didn't scream. He quickly lengthened the sleeves of his pyjama t-shirt so that they covered his fingertips and then replaced his hand on her cheek. She still didn't scream. Optimistic that he knew how to prevent any future chilling screeches, Harry had scooped her into his arms, pointedly avoiding looking at the purple fire that still flickered across her eyes.

The journey down to the Hospital Wing had seemed to take an impossibly long time but he whispered reassuringly to Hermione the whole way. He had no idea whether she heard a single word he said.

He'd shouted for Madam Pomfrey before he'd even kicked the doors to the Hospital Wing open. The flames in the torches around the beds flared into life, flooding the room with light as Harry placed Hermione as carefully as he could with his failing strength.

With Harry's repeated yell, Ron had spluttered awake and Madam Pomfrey had dashed into the room. Harry quickly explained what had happened, only interrupted when Ron swore and Madam Pomfrey gasped as she took in Hermione's eyes.

Harry waited for Madam Pomfrey to do something – to hurry off to get a potion or a salve, or even take out her wand and perform an incantation – but she just stared at Hermione, looking horrified.

The doors to the Hospital Wing were pushed open and a deeply concerned Professor Dumbledore strode in. After their heated and revealing conversation of a couple of nights ago, Harry's emotions tumbled over each other at the sight of the Headmaster but the sense of relief was the strongest; Dumbledore would know what to do.

After repeating his explanation of what he had observed on the Astronomy Tower, Harry watched with trepidation as Dumbledore lowered his hand to gently brush his fingertips over Hermione's wrist. The shock of hearing her scream was only lessened because he'd braced himself – the chilling effect it had on his insides was just as bad as before.

Ron swore again and Harry lifted his gaze to Dumbledore's face.

Dumbledore didn't know what to do.

This blow was so unexpected that Harry took a step back and nearly collapsed onto Ron's bed. _How could Dumbledore not know what to do?_

The two adults started to talk quickly and quietly to each other but Harry could still see by their expressions that they had no immediate plan of how to return Hermione from her current state. Something silvery shot out of Dumbledore's wand with such speed that Harry wouldn't have been able to identify the spell even if his mental abilities weren't currently handicapped by his distress for his best friend. This was all his fault. If he hadn't insisted that they go to the Ministry…

Before he could sink into that thought, Dumbledore addressed the two boys. "Did either of you see the curse that Miss Granger was struck with?"

Ron shook his head mutely but Harry nodded. "Dolohov made a slashing movement, like this," he said, moving his hand through the air as the Death Eater had done. "Hermione had silenced him so I didn't hear the incantation but purple flames came out of her wand and hit her in the chest. She dropped to the floor."

"The colour of the spell," Dumbledore said, "it's the same as the flames in her eyes?"

Harry steeled himself. The change from Hermione's warm, intelligent brown gaze was so unsettling that he could scarcely bear to look at her now. He took a couple of steps closer to her and forced himself to look at her face. Dolohov's fiery curse had moved so fast that Harry had only seen a flash of it and Hermione had certainly had no time to react or defend herself from it. But, looking down at the small flames that burned brightly in front of her eyes, Harry could see they were the same as the ones she'd been struck with. Harry nodded at Dumbledore solemnly. "They're the same."

Madam Pomfrey gripped the front of her dressing gown anxiously. "But there was no sign of any lingering effects," she murmured. "Miss Granger was well on the road to recovery."

The doors to the Hospital Wing were thrown open once more and Professor Snape strode in. Harry immediately understood that the silvery spell Dumbledore had cast must have been a Patronus message to summon the Potions Master. Harry was so hopeful that Snape might be able to use his knowledge of dark magic to help Hermione that his normal hatred for his professor didn't even register.

"You know of the curse, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, turning his head slightly but not taking his eyes from Hermione's worrying state.

"I have seen Dolohov use it before but I have never known anyone to survive it," Snape replied, also fixing his gaze on Hermione's prone form, though his expression was more curious. "It was created by Dolohov himself, designed to kill instantly. I was very surprised to learn that Miss Granger had survived that attack and I was led to believe that she was faring well."

"She was getting better," Harry said quietly, shaking his head at the contrast that Hermione's current form made to the – admittedly worse-for-wear but very responsive – girl he'd left a few hours ago. He looked at Dumbledore accusingly. "You said all my friends were going to be fine."

Dumbledore fixed him with a blue-eyed gaze that, as seemed to be a common occurrence recently, held none of his usual twinkle. "I confess, Harry, that my magical knowledge is not unlimited. From my initial assessments of your fellow students, I could not have anticipated that Miss Granger would suffer such a deterioration in her condition."

Hermione suddenly whimpered and scrambled out of bed, making a dash for the door. Alarmed, Harry made a grab for her, as did Snape. However, while Harry still had his magically lengthened sleeves to prevent him making contact with Hermione's skin, Snape had no choice but to clamp his bare hand around her forearm. When her ear-splitting screams rang through the room once more, Harry couldn't help but notice the flinch that swept across the normally expressionless professor's face. Hermione's body was completely drenched in sweat, as were her clothes and the linens on her bed, and Harry could feel how abnormally hot her body was through his sleeve-covered hands as she struggled against their efforts to return her to bed.

She was definitely getting worse.

"Can't you do something?" Harry yelled at Snape over Hermione's horrific cries and desperate writhing. " _Please_!"

"Get the emergency portkey to St. Mungo's, Poppy," Harry heard Dumbledore instruct as Hermione paused in her screams to take a breath before continuing in her very vocal objections to Snape's touch.

Harry knew that the combined strength of himself and Snape far exceeded that of Hermione but she was fighting like a demon against their attempts to force her back into bed, kicking out at them with her legs. As Ron begged Hermione to stop, Harry abandoned his grip on her arm and grabbed her flailing legs instead before she injured herself or somebody else, and Dumbledore sent a series of rapid silver Patronus messages.

Madam Pomfrey raced over to them with a large brass number four, like one might find on the front door to somebody's house, and handed it to Dumbledore, who tapped it with his wand. Snape shifted his hold on Hermione so that their skin was no longer in contact, effectively stopping her tortured screams, but she continued to struggle in their combined hold. The headmaster lifted his gaze to Harry but, before Dumbledore could say anything, he declared in a fierce voice that he hoped left no room for argument, "I'm coming; I'm _not_ leaving her."

Dumbledore paused for a moment and then nodded. He counted down from three and Harry maintained his grip on one of Hermione's legs whilst reaching out for the brass number with his other hand, instantly feeling the familiar tug at his navel.

Their abrupt arrival on the fourth floor of St Mungo's in the middle of the night caused quite a lot of disruption. Fifteen minutes later, Hermione had been magically restrained to a bed in a private room because the healers had been unable to find any magical-means to subdue her: calming draught, stunning spell and sleeping potion had all proved ineffective.

Two relatively young healers had been able to assist them immediately and another, more experienced, healer had arrived a few minutes later, looking like she'd been summoned from her home. But, once they'd exhausted their methods of calming Hermione's struggles and resorted to simply binding her limbs, Harry saw the grim looks on their faces as they stared at the fire in her eyes.

The healers didn't know what to do.

Harry remained by Hermione's side, trying to speak calmly to her as she thrashed and whimpered in front of him.

More people arrived. Harry was briefly distracted by the presence of Kingsley, Remus and Bill. It was the first time that he'd seen any of the Order since they'd come to his and his friends' rescue in the Department of Mysteries; since Sirius has fallen through the veil…

Seeing Remus' haggard and grieving figure was almost too much for Harry's already overly wrought emotions and he returned his gaze back to Hermione, blinking away the hot tears that threatened to fall down his cheeks. He _couldn't_ lose someone else because of his foolish actions. _Please, no…_

He heard gasps from the doorway and glanced over, momentarily surprised to see Professor McGonagall and Tonks standing in the doorway. Harry had forgotten that they would be in the hospital to recover from their encounters with several stunners and duelling Bellatrix Lestrange respectively. Professor McGonagall was leaning slightly on the young auror for support but both women wore very anxious expressions on their faces as they gazed at the thrashing witch. Tonks escorted Professor McGonagall over to Dumbledore before coming to stand next to Harry. She gripped his shoulder in what he was sure was meant to be a comforting gesture but she held him painfully tight, presumably as a result of her fear as she saw Hermione's condition up close.

"Oh, Hermione," Tonks murmured, lowering a hand towards the witch.

"Don't touch her," Harry warned quickly, making her pause. "She'll scream if you make contact with her skin."

Tonks retracted her hand. "What," she said falteringly, "what are they doing to help her?"

Harry shook his head, swallowing thickly as his throat closed up. "Nothing," he croaked, his voice wobbling with the emotion. "Nobody knows what to do… I think," his voice broke and he shuddered as icy dread swept through his body. " _I think she's dying,_ " Tonks' grip tightened even more painfully on his shoulder, "a _nd nobody knows how to stop it!_ "

Something moved at the edge of his vision and Harry realised that it was Snape. The Potions professor had been standing on the other side of Hermione's bed for the last few minutes and he'd been so still that Harry had forgotten that the mass of black was actually a human being. "If I might make a suggestion," Snape said to the rest of the room, effectively stopping all other conversations with the slight raising of his voice. The senior healer that had been talking to Dumbledore and McGonagall nodded her head eagerly, and Harry felt a tiny spark of hope. "Unfortunately, I don't know enough about the curse used and its side effects to be in a position to offer any advice on how to cure Miss Granger…" Harry's spark extinguished at once. "However," Snape continued, "there _is_ one person we can turn to for that information; possibly the _only_ person with the knowledge that is sought."

McGonagall gasped and held a hand to her chest and Remus looked deeply unhappy. "You don't mean…?" his former professor asked.

"He's right," Kingsley said and Bill nodded grimly. Harry assumed both men had enough experience with curses to know that what Snape suggested was a good idea but Dumbledore looked troubled.

"I'm sorry," one of the junior healers put in, seemingly nervous to speak up in front of the room's occupants, "but who are you talking about?"

A number of voices replied darkly, " _Antonin Dolohov_."

* * *

Night time was the worst.

When you didn't have the reassurance of sight to tell you otherwise, your brain tricked you into believing that your worst memories had come to life once again. Fears that you could clamp down within yourself in the cold light of day were torn from you in ragged screams in the darkness.

It had only been a couple of days since Antonin had been returned to the imprisonment of Azkaban. He hadn't screamed yet… but he knew that he would because, in the end, they _all_ screamed. The weak, the strong, the young, the old, the innocent and the guilty – Azkaban claimed all their screams just the same.

A shriek pierced the night but Antonin showed no reaction to the tortured cry – after years spent in this hell, the screams were nothing but white noise to him; another symptom of his descent into utter inhumanity.

The transition was not yet complete, though sometimes, particularly when he saw he was to be returned to Azkaban (and delivered by the dementors into the exact same cell he'd spent so many years of his life, the twisted fuckers) he wished he were just an inhuman monster because surely it would be easier to feel nothing. His reaction at returning to hell would've been more extreme were it not for the deeply-buried hope he had that the Dark Lord would free them as he had done a few months earlier. Despite the utter failure of the mission that had seen his recapture, Antonin knew that the Dark Lord's power was increasing daily and it would be only a matter of time before his forces overtook the country – or that's what he fervently hoped. He knew that if he even _thought_ about the possibility that he would be incarcerated for the rest of his life, he would start screaming instantly.

"On your feet, Dolohov," a deep voice broke into his thoughts, making him jerk at the unexpected intrusion. He opened his eyes warily and was surprised by the light that flooded into his miserable cell. It wasn't morning already, was it? "Quickly," the voice snapped.

Antonin turned his head towards the sound and saw at once where the light was coming from: a large patronus in the form of a panther stared at him from the other side of the bars. Lifting his gaze upwards, he saw the imposing figure of Kingsley Shacklebolt, Ministry auror and recently revealed member of the Order of the Phoenix.

Antonin was very tempted to stay exactly where he was to spite the man who was partly responsible for returning him to hell but the auror's presence in the middle of the night was extremely curious and, if there was one thing that Antonin would consider a weakness within himself, something that had led him to trouble again and again resulting in his current predicament, it was his inability to stop himself giving in to that curiosity.

Antonin considered that Shacklebolt's vice-like grip on his arm was surely tighter than it needed to be as he was roughly escorted through the prison. With every step they took, Antonin's curiosity rose. Repetitive monotony was the normal way of life in Azkaban if his previous experiences were anything to go by, and he wondered what lay in wait for him when they reached the intended destination. He highly doubted it was something he would enjoy.

The scene he was greeted with was so unlikely that he wondered for a moment if he was dreaming, but then he recalled that the contents of his dreams were never as relatively harmless as this. Albus Dumbledore stood just beyond the door of the small room and he fixed Antonin with such a piercing look that he very much felt like the last decade and a half had disappeared and he was a schoolboy once more under the scrutiny of his headmaster – as was the case the last time he had seen the old man. He found himself oddly troubled and less sneering of what Dumbledore thought of his former pupil than he would have ever anticipated he'd be so he broke their gaze and took in the other figures.

Remus Lupin was a former schoolfellow of Antonin's, though a couple of years below him, and he'd long been suspected of being a member of Dumbledore's pathetic Order. His presence in the Department of Mysteries the other night had certainly confirmed that theory. Lupin looked ragged and gaunt and he briefly wondered if the death of Sirius Black, one of his best friends at school, was responsible for his appearance. He looked at Antonin with thinly-veiled disgust but that was nothing compared to the look of hatred on the face of Harry Potter. Bizarrely, the boy was wearing extra-long pyjamas as he tried to kill Antonin through sheer mental willpower. He found the presence of all these people intriguing, but none more so than that of the young woman who thrashed and whimpered on a bed set against the far wall of the room.

He recognised her at once; after all, there weren't many teenaged girls he had attempted to kill.

For many, that statement would be proof that the transition to brutal monster was already complete but it hadn't been anything personal. The Dark Lord had given him and his fellow Death Eaters a mission to retrieve the prophecy and Potter and his friends had stood in the way of the task being successful. If the students were old enough to involve themselves in this war then they were old enough to face the consequences. Admittedly, his temper had gotten the better of him once things had to devolved to a game of hide and seek in the bowels of the Ministry and it certainly hadn't been improved by the silencing charm she'd inflicted on him to prevent him revealing Potter's location to his colleagues. A burst of fury had resulted in him hurtling his favoured curse her way and she'd dropped to the floor as expected. The fact that she wasn't quite as dead as he'd assumed was _extremely_ interesting. His curiosity was well and truly piqued.

"Your curse didn't have quite the intended outcome," Dumbledore told him, his voice colder than Antonin remembered – but then, Antonin had never before heard the headmaster speak to someone who'd attempted to kill one of his students.

Antonin said nothing in reply. The truth behind Dumbledore's words clearly spoke for itself, writhing on the bed, but very much alive.

He knew who she was, of course. He may have been imprisoned for the majority of her life but all of the Death Eaters chosen for the Ministry assault had been briefed about Potter's likely accomplices, and she was right at the top of the list, next to one of the Weasley brats. Hermione Granger, _mudblood_ , Gryffindor prefect, top student in her year and best friend of Harry Potter. Given the way the Potter boy was using his pyjama clad hands to try and soothe her desperate struggling and the death glare he continued to send Antonin's way, the description of their closeness was undoubtedly accurate.

"Antonin," he nearly flinched at the old man's use of his given name, "do you know how to help her?"

Shacklebolt gave him a none-too-gentle shove in the girl's direction and he staggered forwards a couple of steps. From this position, he could see Granger more clearly. Even from a few feet away, he could see that her skin was slick with perspiration; the nightdress she was wearing was drenched with it as it clung to her petite frame and her face was deeply flushed. He would suspect that she was suffering from nothing more than a severe fever were it not for her eyes. Her eyes were ablaze with purple fire – the same purple fire of the curse he'd used to strike her down. How curious…

" _Help her_!" Potter urged anxiously. " _Please."_ The final word came out a little choked and Antonin recognised that it had cost a lot from Potter to be so polite to the very man who had caused her distress. He could feel the weight of the stares the other men were directing into his skull and the way that they harboured some sort of hope that he knew how to cure her. He could almost taste their desperation and he realised that they wouldn't come to _him_ unless they had exhausted every other option.

"Why?" he posed, the first word he'd spoken since his return to imprisonment. He felt the other occupants in the room reel at his query.

 _Monster_.

Well, he may be a Death Eater but he'd been a Slytherin first and he wasn't going to do what they so desperately wanted without gaining something for himself first.

" _Why_ , what?" Lupin fairly growled in response. Antonin recalled reading that the man had recently been revealed as a werewolf and he could well believe it.

"Why should I help her?" he elaborated snidely. This was _not_ the right thing to say.

Shacklebolt's hold on his arm grew so tight that he thought the bone might snap but Lupin darted towards him, teeth bared, snarling, "You son of a bitch!" and promptly punched him below his left eye. Antonin saw the blow coming but, with Shacklebolt holding him firmly in place, there was little he could do except brace himself for the impact. He made no sound but he was pretty sure that Lupin had broken his cheekbone, _fucking werewolf strength._

Shacklebolt seemed surprised by the sudden attack for he relinquished his hold on Antonin and Lupin took advantage of this by dragging him forcibly over to the mudblood.

" _Remus_ ," Dumbledore warned sharply but the werewolf paid no attention for they could all see that Granger had started convulsing violently, having some sort of fit.

"Hermione!" Potter cried desperately.

"She's _dying_ , you sick bastard," Lupin growled, "and it's your fault. So you're going to do _something good_ for once in your miserable life." He gave Antonin a final shove towards her, making him lose his balance and he held his hands out to steady himself. One hand landed on the linen on her bed, the other made contact with her sweat-slicked ankle.

She stilled immediately.

How curious.

Antonin heard Potter gasp and he instinctively withdrew his hand from Granger. She released a high keening sound the instant he broke contact and resumed her struggles, though her movements were not quite as violent as they had been seconds before.

How very curious.

Before he could move away, Lupin grabbed his arm and jerked it downwards to force him to place his fingers against the girl's skin again. He only put up a half-hearted struggle because, firstly, there was little point in fighting against Lupin's superior strength and, secondly, he was rather intrigued to see what would happen…

As previously, she stilled at once.

Antonin glanced up at her face, noting the serene, almost _happy_ , expression it now bore. The flames in her eyes no longer blazed furiously but fluttered and danced gently.

How very deeply curious.

And didn't Antonin just _love_ to see where his curiosity led to…

* * *

A/N: Have you ever started writing a fic and intended to keep it to yourself for a bit until you have a few chapters under your belt, but so enjoyed the plot idea that you can't hold it back just in case someone posts their own story that has basically the same plot? That is this.

Silly, I know, because there are a ridiculous number of HP fanfics and I suppose there's only so much originality but I wanted to put this out here anyway.

I am VERY interested to know what you think so far. With other fics already on the go, I don't know how soon I'll update - I guess it will depend on whether you guys like it or not.

Let me know!

Red


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hi guys! Your response to the first chapter has been amazing! Thank you so much to everyone who has followed, favourited and (especially) reviewed this fic!

I wasn't intending to get this next chapter out so soon but you were all so awesome I couldn't help myself!

* * *

Hermione tightly gripped a fistful of the front of her cloak against her chest, digging her fingernails into the soft fabric.

"Are you sure about this, Hermione?" Kingsley's voice rumbled soothingly next to her. "If you've changed your mind, we can go back."

She shook her head. "No, I'm ready," she maintained in a forceful voice. "Let's go." She tore her eyes away from the imposing exterior of Azkaban and focused instead on the door in the metal wall a few yards away that would grant them entry into the dreaded prison. Her otter Patronus gambolled along happily next to Kingsley's panther and Hermione wished she could feel even a fraction of the animal's untroubled joy at that moment. In fact, she was mildly surprised that she was even able to cast the tricky charm given the state of her mood ever since she'd regained consciousness in the Hospital Wing a couple of nights ago, with the same man beside her as he was now.

It had been a slow and painful process. Her whole body had ached terribly and just opening her eyes had been exhausting. Kingsley had been quick to notice her return to consciousness and he carefully administered a number of potions. At first, her throat had burned horribly at the sensation but then the healing effect of the potions had begun to kick in and she gradually returned to a state of body and mind that was far more bearable, but still some distance from comfortable.

She frowned up at Kingsley, struggling to see him in the darkness. "I don't…" she began in confusion. "Where's… What happened?"

Kingsley retook his seat in a chair beside her bed and fixed her with a calming expression. "You had a relapse in your fight against Dolohov's curse," he explained gently. "You were," he paused, seeming to choose his words carefully, " _unresponsive_ from late on Sunday evening and it is now in the early hours of Wednesday morning."

"Oh," she said simply. "A relapse."

Kingsley frowned, looking uncomfortable. "There was slightly more to it than that but it would obviously be better for Madam Pomfrey to speak with you about your medical condition."

Her head felt very much like it had been stuffed tightly with cotton wool – _angry_ cotton wool, if that was possible – and she was forced to process his words slowly. "Why are you here?" The question was a little blunt but she had neither the energy nor the brain power for social niceties at that moment.

Luckily, Kingsley looked, if anything, lightly amused by her question. "You were hit with a dark curse, Hermione. Part of my job, as an auror, is to investigate the repercussions of dark magic. Madam Pomfrey can attend to your needs during the day but she must rest at some point, and so I volunteered to watch over you whilst she sleeps. She gave me very strict instructions about the potions I must administer should you have wake when she wasn't here, and I am very pleased that I will be able to tell her I adhered to her orders perfectly."

Hermione stared at him for a long moment but he gazed back unaffected. "I'm a _repercussion_ ," she said eventually, quoting his term back to him.

Kingsley grimaced. It was small and fleeting but it was definitely there. "For want of a better word," he said apologetically.

Another pause.

"But I felt fine," she told him, thinking back to the last time she could remember being awake, "relatively speaking." Her chest had still been very sore but, considering that was the part of her body to be struck by Dolohov's curse, that was hardly surprising.

He nodded. "I know."

She watched him closely. "It's not over, is it? That's why you're here."

He shifted in his seat, looking decidedly unhappy with the course of the conversation. "I told you, Madam Pomfrey is much better suited to – "

"Madam Pomfrey isn't here," she interrupted, anxiety creeping into her body at the prospect that he was keeping something important from her. "Please, Kingsley; I need to know."

"You should rest, Hermione," he suggested gently.

She let out a huff of annoyance. "I _am_ resting," she said, mustering up the best indignant tone she could when her body ached like a hippogriff was sitting on it. "Tell me."

Still looking displeased and though he was doing so against his better judgement, Kingsley relayed back to her the information she sought. His profession as an auror meant that he was used to giving reports containing all the key information but she suspected he spoke much more gently with her than he did to his superiors and colleagues. But, given the horrifying news that her body had entered into such a troubled, frantic state which had only been broken by the touch of the very man who had cursed her, Hermione understood the necessity of the sensitivity in Kingsley's tone.

She had listened to Kingsley's account mutely, feeling oddly disconnected to her body. How could all that have happened without her knowledge? She'd been to St Mungo's and Azkaban – _Azkaban!_ – with absolutely no recollection of events. Not even when Dolohov had, had _touched_ her. Despite its current leaden properties, her leg had involuntarily jerked in disgust at the mental image that thought created.

"Is it over?" she asked Kingsley, her voice very small in the wake of all she had been told. "Has the curse been broken?"

She could see the truth in his remorseful eyes before he even spoke. "We cannot be sure," he admitted truthfully. "I'm afraid we are dealing with the unknown, Hermione."

And that was particularly galling. If it weren't bad enough that Dolohov had tried to kill her (and very nearly succeeded), the effects of surviving the curse had never been knowingly experienced before. She wasn't able to research the curse because it was one that Dolohov had invented himself. She wasn't able to get any answers; it was simply a matter of 'wait and see'.

"Well, that's not entirely true," Kingsley informed her when she'd voiced her frustration aloud. "Dolohov has agreed to look into his work on the spell."

Hermine made an inarticulate noise low in her throat that was a mixture of anger, disbelief and revulsion.

"Quite," Kingsley agreed darkly. "I won't pretend that he's agreed to do it in some attempt to make amends for his past actions – he had conditions."

"Which were?"

"A room in the fortress with minimal contact with the dementors which, as he stated, was a logical stipulation if we want his mind to be at its most productive," Kingsley allowed. "He's also to be granted access to his old notes and reading materials that were confiscated upon his original arrest during the first war."

Hermione nodded. Dolohov's demands weren't exactly unreasonable.

"I know what you're thinking," Kingsley said. "He originally demanded to be removed from Azkaban altogether but a few choice words from Remus and a reminder from Professor Dumbledore that we could always appeal for Dolohov's sentence for the attempted murder of a child to be changed to a Dementor's Kiss and he grudgingly settled for a new cell instead."

Hermione shivered, none too surprised that it should take the threat of having his soul sucked out to get a heartless Death Eater like Dolohov to help her.

Silence settled between them once more as Hermione attempted to accept the distressing revelations. She told herself not to get carried away, that it was pointless to assume the worst – that she was going to be affected by Dolohov's curse for the rest of her life or killed by it. That was an emotional response and she prided herself on primarily making decisions that were logical and informed. _Informed_. If only that were possible in this case.

"What do you need?" Kingsley asked her after a few minutes, and she was grateful that he didn't ask her if she was all right because she quite obviously wasn't – nobody would be in her condition. Instead, Kingsley had asked her what she _needed_ ; what did she need to make the situation better; to help her recover or come to terms with what had happened? It was a practical question for two practical people.

"I need to see Dolohov."

That wasn't the answer he'd been expecting and, even now, as he was escorting her up to the entrance to Azkaban two days later, Hermione knew that Kingsley wished that she had simply requested a glass of water. He'd tried to talk her out of it, telling her to get some sleep and she'd think differently in the morning. She'd done what he'd asked but her request was still the same. How was she to accept what was happening to her if she didn't have all the information available? Unfortunately, the only person who could begin to meet that need was a convicted murderer and Death Eater who had tried to kill her – who still might _succeed_ in killing her if she couldn't rid herself of the curse.

Harry and Ron didn't understand.

Hermione hadn't really expected them to because it was very plain sometimes that they didn't understand her at all, despite them being her best friends. She didn't hold it against them; they were very different people and that was one of the reasons why their friendship was so strong. After all, she couldn't understand their utter _obsession_ with quidditch but that didn't mean that she loved them any less. She didn't doubt that they cared about her very deeply in return, and she certainly got proof of that when they'd rushed to her bedside the morning after she'd regained consciousness with looks of immense relief and joy. She'd noted that they were very careful to avoid touching her skin as they hugged her but, before Hermione had gotten the chance to see for herself if their touch made her skin burn, Madam Pomfrey had scolded the boys for subjecting her body to any physical exertion that she wasn't yet ready for.

Ron hadn't stopped talking: telling her how worried they'd been, asking whether she was really alright and snarling about what he'd do to Dolohov if he ever got the chance. Harry was very quiet. Hermione could see that he was suffering, which was understandable given the events of the last few days. Wanting to comfort him, she reached out for his hand without thinking and gripped his fingers in her own. He gasped at the contact, his whole body tensing as his gaze flew up to her face.

She felt nothing.

Well, nothing unusual or painful, anyway.

She realised that all three of them were holding their breaths and she released hers with a small laugh. "I'm fine," she reassured them. "It doesn't hurt."

The tension markedly decreased after that, particularly in Harry, until she informed them of her wish to meet with Dolohov. Ron looked at her like she was stark-raving mad and Harry became very anxious again.

"Hermione, I know you have a lot of questions about what happened to you but I really don't think that's a good idea," Harry argued, his voice strained. "You didn't see what it was like there, you didn't see him."

"Lupin punched him in the face because he didn't want to help you," Ron said quickly. "Did they tell you that?"

"Kingsley told me," Hermione replied evenly, though she couldn't picture her mild-mannered former Defence teacher acting so violently.

" _Tosser_ ," Ron spat, anger at Dolohov coursing through his body again. "That's the least he deserved. If I had a sickle to my name I'd buy Lupin a drink at the Three Broomsticks – hell, I'd get him a whole bottle of firewhiskey."

Hermione didn't bother to point out that wouldn't be possible until Ron became of age because she was still engaged in a silent battle with Harry over her decision to visit Azkaban.

"I – " Hermione began. "Harry, I have to find out what I can. Just sitting here doing nothing is killing me." He flinched at her choice of words and she gasped at her own callousness, covering her mouth with her hands. "I'm so sorry," she said, tears coming to her eyes. "I didn't mean – "

"It's fine," he said quickly, though it obviously wasn't.

Professor Dumbledore was politely surprised by her request. "I have often overheard my staff discuss why, given your exceptional intelligence and insatiable desire to learn, you were not sorted into Ravenclaw, Miss Granger," he commented lightly.

"Perhaps it's because I'm not very witty, sir," she answered him in an easy manner, earning her a twinkling from his eyes that seemed to have been absent for a long time.

"On the contrary, Miss Granger," he said warmly, "your very manner in the wake of everything you have been through is evidence of your own house's traits. There are very few who would be willing to go to such a place as Azkaban for the prospect of returning with so little."

"I think any insight he can give me into the curse would be worth it, sir," she replied.

"I don't doubt it, Miss Granger, though I pray you will not set your hopes very high," he warned. "Spell invention is a very unpredictable business, especially with those of a dark nature."

"I understand, sir, but I fear I will not be able to settle back into my life unless my curiosity is sated," she explained.

He nodded kindly. "I will see what I can do, Miss Granger."

The Ministry was still in uproar over the revelation that Voldemort _was_ back after all, so Hermione assumed that Dumbledore had taken advantage of the chaos and pulled some strings to authorise her visit. He had offered to accompany her himself but she had begged him not to take time out of his busy schedule for her (especially now that the war with Voldemort was set to step up a number of gears and he was undoubtedly needed elsewhere) and she insisted that she was quite comfortable with simply having Kingsley escort her, as the presence of someone from the Ministry was required.

The door to the prison slowly ground open as they approached and Hermione felt the cold, depressing atmosphere surround her even with the protection afforded by the two Patronus charms.

"Hood up," Kingsley prompted her quietly as they stepped over the threshold. Hermione obediently did as suggested, grateful to be given a distraction as he spoke to the pair of dementors that floated just within the doorway. The hood had been Kingsley's idea to prevent the prison's inhabitants from getting a look at her. All the Death Eaters that had been captured in the Department of Mysteries were located within the fortress and Hermione didn't want them screaming or shouting at her as she walked past their cells.

"Let's go," Kingsley murmured, placing a guiding hand on her arm as he steered her to their destination. Unfortunately, it would take a few days for Dolohov's relocation to a new cell to be authorised. Just because Dumbledore had given his word that he would do everything in his power to give Dolohov new accommodation, that didn't mean it would happen instantly. Kingsley had informed her that the Ministry had grudgingly agreed that the change would go ahead but there was plenty of paperwork to see to first before anything practical was done – particularly given the current upheaval in magical Britain.

" _Save me_!" a desperate voice shrieked out of the very first cell they walked past and a hand thrust itself between the bars in an attempt to grab hold of her. She gasped, shrinking fearfully into Kingsley's presence. " _Mother_ , _please! Save me!"_

Hermione couldn't stop a whimper escaping her lips as she took in the man's skeletal appearance and his inhumane stare. Kingsley turned her body forcefully away from the prisoner and she realised just how icy it was. Glancing along the corridor, she saw the reason for the sudden drop in temperature: her patronus was gone.

"It's OK," Kingsley told her quietly but she still heard him above the man's bone-chilling shrieks. "Just keep going."

Hermione nodded mutely and forced herself to put one foot in front of the other, her eyes focused on the sleek silver panther as it stalked ahead of them. Shouts and screams echoed from some of the other cells they passed but Hermione tried her best to ignore them and she certainly didn't look in any of them.

"Once we turn this corner, he's in the third cell along," Kingsley informed her and she appreciated the chance he gave her to mentally fortify herself for the encounter.

Her heart was beating furiously in anticipation and she forced herself to take a couple of calming breaths as they entered Dolohov's corridor, determined not to let him see her fear. The panther stopped in front of the third cell and sat upright and alert, staring coolly at the cell's inhabitant. Kingsley gave her arm a reassuring squeeze and then let his hand fall away as he stepped protectively in front of her, having reached their destination.

Half hidden behind Kingsley and with her hood lowered deep over her face, Hermione had a few moments to survey Dolohov from under her eyelashes before he noticed her. He was sat on the rough stone floor of his cell, knees bent, his side leaning against the bars as he read a small, leather-bound book in the limited light available to him from the bracketed torches. This was the first time she'd seen his face clearly for herself. The picture released after his escape from Azkaban a few months ago showed a very different man from the one before her now but, she presumed, that's what access to both hot food and water did after over a decade with neither. He was still thin but didn't have the skeletal appearance of the other prisoner she had seen. His dark hair had been cut back from the long, matted tangle it had been in his picture. Now his hair came down in thick wavy, almost curly, strands to a length just below his ears but a few pieces fell across his eyes from where he'd lowered his head to read. Dark stubble covered his lower face and the flesh of one his cheeks still showed bruising from where Remus had punched him. There were lines etched into his forehead where he frowned at the panther before him. She watched as Dolohov's heavy gaze lifted from the Patronus up to Kingsley, catching a glimpse of the glittering, menacing eyes that had flashed so furiously at her in the Department of Mysteries and haunted her ever since. Then his gaze slid past Kingsley, directly into hers.

She was trapped.

Pinned under his intimidating stare, she couldn't move, she couldn't think, she couldn't even _breathe_.

Dolohov shut his book with a sharp snap, making her flinch, and the corners of his mouth lifted up ever so slightly. He got to his feet languidly, as though he didn't have a care in the world, his eyes never leaving her, and waited expectantly.

When a few moments passed and Hermione was unable to find her voice, Kingsley broke the heavy silence. "Miss Granger has some questions for you."

Dolohov showed no reaction to this statement but continued to stare at her. Hermione had the distinct impression she now knew what it felt like to be an animal's prey. All her instincts were telling her to flee from that predatory gaze but she was rooted to the spot.

"Are you sure?" Dolohov questioned silkily, raising an eyebrow when Hermione had only managed to go as far as slightly parting her lips in her attempt to talk to him. There was a note of amusement in his voice and in the curl of his lips and she flushed angrily, incensed that he had the gall to find anything about this even remotely funny.

She pushed back her hood and stepped forward in one fluid motion, lifting her chin defiantly as she fixed a steely expression on her face. "I – " she began but Dolohov cut across her, finally looking away from her to shoot a demanding glance at Kingsley.

"My new cell?" he questioned the auror.

"The paperwork is being processed," Kingsley replied calmly. "You should be moved within the next few days." Dolohov crossed his arms across his chest and leant against the wall of his cell, looking displeased, and the shift in his jaw definitely had a hint of stubbornness to it. "You already have your notes and books," Kingsley pointed out, indicating to the texts in the cell, "We're cooperating; your relocation is conditional on you doing likewise."

Dolohov continued to stare at him darkly for a few moments before fixing his gaze on Hermione once again. "You had questions."

"I want to know about the curse," she told him frankly, a little irked by how easily he had dismissed her earlier.

"That's not a question," he pointed out flatly. She bristled and let out a huff of irritation, making his eyes gleam at her bolder attitude.

"Did you invent it?" she asked.

"Yes."

"When?"

"Not long after I left Hogwarts."

"You've killed people with it?"

"Yes."

"You intended to kill _me_ with it?"

"Yes."

She paused, unsettled by the lack of emotion in his answer. She'd known what he was going to say but it was still terrifying to hear someone admit so cold-bloodedly and unapologetically that they'd tried to end your life.

"Have you known anyone else survive it?"

"No."

"Why did I?"

He slowly ran his eyes down the length of her body and she forced herself not to squirm at the unpleasant feeling his actions created. It wasn't as though he could even see anything whilst she was wearing her cloak but he gave her the impression he could make out every line and curve of her body. "Your silencing spell forced me to perform the curse non-verbally. The intensity of the spell can't have been strong enough to kill you."

She nodded. That was certainly the opinion of everyone else she'd spoken to on the matter. "When you created the curse, did you know there would be side-effects if it wasn't carried out to completion?"

"No."

"Can you explain them now?"

"No. Not yet."

"Not yet?" she repeated, unable to keep a trace of hope out of her voice. "You think you'll be able to work out what happened?"

He laughed softly at her eagerness and gripped the bars with his hands, resting his head against them. "What do you know of spell invention, _zhar-ptitsa_?"

Hermione flushed, both at her silent admission that she knew very little on the subject and at the unknown Russian moniker he'd teased her with.

"It's a complicated art, requiring extensive study, planning and practise," he sneered at her. " _If_ an answer can be found, it could take many weeks, maybe even months." She felt the back of her neck prickle at the passion in his voice and she saw that his deep brown eyes glittered more intensely than ever when he spoke about the subject. "Any more questions, mudblood?" he asked.

The breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding was released almost as sharply as if he'd punched her in the gut and she glared at the use of the all-too-familiar slur. "I want copies of your notes so I can research the spell myself."

He let out a hiss of laughter but when he saw that she wasn't joking he walked away from the bars chuckling to himself as he shook his head. Hermione was sure she heard him mutter, ' _arrogant chit_ ', under his breath as he bent to retrieve a small black leather notebook from amongst the tomes delivered to him from the Ministry. "Here," he said, thrusting the book through the bars at her. "Knock yourself out," he sounded darkly amused and she tried to ignore the searing heat coming from his gaze as she plucked the book from his grasp.

"So Dumbledore's got no problem with his little pet _zhar-ptitsa_ studying dark magic?" he asked mockingly.

Hermione forced herself to move no more than was necessary as she performed a cloning spell on the book, denying her body's desire to shift at the uncomfortable feeling Dolohov's words created along her spine. "He understands my need to find the answers," she claimed semi-truthfully, holding the cloned book up to her eyes for inspection so she could avoid looking at him.

"And the Ministry's stance on little witches becoming corrupted by dark spells?" Dolohov asked Shacklebolt innocently.

Hermione glanced at Kingsley. She knew that what she was doing wasn't strictly legal but it wasn't as though she was going to practise the spell herself – only research it. The auror didn't give anything away in his expression. "Hermione's studies will be monitored closely but her past actions give me no cause for alarm."

Dolohov glowered at him and Hermione felt herself stand a little taller at Kingsley's vote of confidence, but that feeling quickly shrivelled away when she flicked through the first few pages of her copied book. There were lots of complicated arithmantic charts and series of runes which were going to be extremely difficult to make sense of. But that wasn't what made her face fall dishearteningly…

"Did I forget to say my work is in Russian?" Dolohov sneered at her. " _Udachi, gryaznokrovka_."

Recovering from that blow, she hid the depression from her face as she pocketed the clone and held out the original notebook to him. "I'll take copies of the rest of the notes you have on the curse," she said, spying other small books in the piles.

"That should be more than enough for you to be getting on with for now," he told her, nodding at the book she still held out to him. "You'll be back soon anyway."

His tone wasn't scornful anymore but had returned to its former menacing state and Hermione couldn't hold back a gasp. "What – "

"You need to work on your interrogation skills, _zhar-ptitsa_ ," he warned threateningly. "You missed out a few key questions… Do I think the curse is still within you?" He paused dramatically and Hermione stared at him with wide eyes. " _Yes._ Do I think the spell will kill you if we find no counter-curse? ...Yes. Do I think there's something that can be done to keep its effects at bay?" He yanked the offered notebook forwards so suddenly that she was pulled along with it and his other hand encircled her wrist. Kingsley raised his wand to Dolohov at once and Hermione whimpered at the contact. However, it wasn't a sound born of fear or pain… but _pleasure_.

It was a sensation like nothing she'd ever experienced before and it rippled throughout her entire body, not just in the place where her skin tingled so nicely where it met his. He traced his thumb along the inside of her wrist and she shuddered at the thrill it sent along her nerves. Even the way that Dolohov's eyes bored into hers wasn't enough to hide how wonderful and soothing his touch was. "Yes," he said softly, staring at her in fascination. "That's better, isn't it, mudblood?"

She came to her senses at once and wrenched her arm away from his grip, taking a few quick steps back. He chuckled darkly at her horrified expression but Kingsely suddenly stood in front of her, blocking the Death Eater from view.

"Did he hurt you?" Kingsley asked her concernedly. Tears came to her eyes and she shook her head, unable to trust that she wouldn't start sobbing should she attempt to speak. "OK. I think it's time we left."

"Final question," Dolohov called after their retreating figures. "Now that you know what my touch does to you, do I think you'll be able to stop your body craving it?" His dark chuckle was the answer to his own question. "See you soon, _zhar-ptitsa_."

* * *

A/N Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed Hermione and Antonin's first proper encounter. It was a lot of fun to write.

Translation - _Udachi, gryaznokrovka =_ Good luck, mudblood

I _would_ tell you what zhar-ptitsa means but we will find out later in the story anyway. But if you want to make an educated guess then drop your ideas in your review! (Or you could just paste it into a translation website!)

Anyway, I would LOVE to know what you think of part two!

Red


	3. Chapter 3

A/N Thank you for all the ways that you've supported this story!

* * *

Telling her parents was, possibly, the worst part of her ordeal so far.

Hermione had been very careful to shelter her mum and dad from a lot of the troubles currently being experienced in the magical world. Some might consider her lack of communication about the return of a dark, powerful wizard to be akin to lying and, if she was truly honest with herself, Hermione would be hard-pressed to refute that claim. However, she was so used to leaving out the finer details of her time at Hogwarts (such as those events relating to Philosopher's Stones, escaped prisoners from Azkaban and illegal defence clubs that could see her expelled) that it hadn't occurred to her that she would have to tell her mum and dad about the incident in the Department of Mysteries (and its consequences) until Professor McGonagall informed her that she would meet with Hermione's parents in order to reassure them that the school would do all it could to help her cope going forwards.

Her vagueness in regards to the more dangerous aspects of her life as a witch was partly borne of a desire to stop her parents from worrying about her but, also, from a deep fear she had that, in order to protect her, they would want to stop her returning to a world which was a fundamental part of her – a world she couldn't imagine existing without. Her parents had been unwavering in their support of her since it had been revealed that she was a witch and she knew they were very proud of her, but they didn't understand her world like she did. How could they?

Hermione couldn't contain a deeply troubled expression at the thought of having to come clean to her parents about all that had been pointedly left out of her past letters and conversations. Professor McGonagall mistook the frustrated tears in her eyes as a sign of Hermione being traumatised by the memory of what had transpired at the Ministry and gave her arm a consoling, yet affirming, squeeze whilst giving her words of encouragement that Hermione appreciated, even if they weren't quite necessary. While she obviously _was_ deeply affected by the events of the past few days, Hermione wouldn't go as far as labelling herself as 'traumatised', disliking the stigma attached to the word that implied that she was no longer able to function like a normal human being. She may have been struck with a dark and potentially-fatal curse that, if Dolohov was correct, would continue to plague her for the indeterminable future, but she wasn't going to let that get in the way of who she was at heart. And it certainly wasn't going to stop her from fighting this life-altering turn of events with all of her being – handwritten Russian notebooks be damned!

However, seeing the horrified looks on her parents' faces as Professor McGonagall broke the news that it was currently unknown whether their daughter's body was still influenced by a dark curse, made her feel much more like a child than she had done for a couple of years. She wanted her mum and dad to wrap their arms around her and promise her soothingly that everything was going to be OK.

But they couldn't.

Nobody could make that promise to her – least of all her parents, who were completely uninformed of the situation in the magical world, but Hermione knew she was mostly to blame for that. As Professor McGonagall continued to give assurances of Hogwarts' commitment to protect and assist Hermione in whatever capacity she needed in the future, Hermione could see her parents struggling to put everything into context as they stared wordlessly at the Deputy Headmistress.

Hermione grimaced and turned to her head of house, asking for a few minutes alone with her parents. The request was granted with a sympathetic expression and the Granger family had nothing but a deafening silence for company as they gazed at each other.

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered, anguished tears welling up in her eyes at the knowledge that she'd been a selfish and deceitful daughter. "I'm so sorry," she choked as she began to sob. She hid her face in her hands, unable to bear to look at their hurt expressions any longer.

A pair of arms wrapped themselves around her and she could feel another hand stroking her hair softly. "Oh, my sweet girl," she heard her father mutter.

She wasn't convinced that she deserved the comfort but she returned the embrace desperately, needing her parents' affection and forgiveness. "I should've told you about Voldemort coming back," she confessed between sobs. "I should have told you about everything but I didn't want you to worry about me."

"Shh, sweetheart," her mother said comfortingly as she kissed the top of her head.

After a few moments, Hermione pulled herself out of her father's arms and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry for hiding things from you."

Her parents exchanged a troubled look. "You were trying to shield us," her father sighed, still not looking pleased but there was a hint of understanding in his tone. "You were acting like an adult and making choices to protect the people you love. _We're_ the ones that have failed to do the same," he said softly, reaching up to cup her face. "We allowed our child to get hurt."

Hermione grimaced and shook her head as more tears threatened to fall. She couldn't bear for them to blame themselves for any of this. "It's not your fault, Dad," she insisted emotively. "I made decisions that I knew would put me in danger."

"But – _why_?" her mum asked, gripping her hand tightly.

"My friends needed me," she admitted simply. "This war that's coming, I – I don't think I'm in the position where I can just sit and watch it pass by."

"Hermione, you're _sixteen_ ," her mother reminded her incredulously, her tone implying that she thought Hermione could _definitely_ remove herself from future conflict. "War – "

"War doesn't distinguish between ages, Mum," Hermione told her sadly. "Voldemort tried to kill Harry when he was just a baby, remember?"

At the sight of the grim expressions her parents exchanged, Hermione knew that had been the wrong thing to say.

"Hermione," her father began hesitantly and she shook her head emphatically, anticipating what he was going to say.

"No," she said forcefully.

"It's too dangerous in the magical world," he continued. "You were nearly killed a few days ago!"

"Dad, _please_ ," she begged, clamping down on her long-held fear that her parents would prevent her from being a witch. "I know this has come as a shock and I understand that you're just trying to protect me, but letting me return to Hogwarts is the best way to do that. Keeping me away from the world I belong to isn't going to make my magic disappear – I need to learn how to control it and protect myself with it." Her father sighed noisily but Hermione put her hand on his forearm to calm him. "And, and then there's the curse," she added quietly. "We don't know if there are any more consequences. I should be around an adult witch or wizard at all times for a while in case something suddenly happens. I could be a danger to myself here – or even to you two. Mr and Mrs Weasley have offered to let me stay with them for the summer and Professor McGonagall thinks it's a good idea…"

Her departure from her family home less than two hours later left her feeling disheartened and guilt-ridden. Her parents weren't happy about letting her go but they'd seen the need for her to be under magical supervision. Hermione had often spent her holiday time with the Weasleys and she knew that her mum and dad took no issue with Molly and Arthur personally but, rather, were distressed with the whole notion of allowing their daughter to return to a society that was in the opening stages of a war – a war that would see their child targeted because of the circumstances of her birth and her friendship with Harry Potter.

Hermione had promised to be more honest in her letters and said she'd set up a subscription to the Daily Prophet for them so they could keep abreast of events in the wizarding world. Both her mother and father had whispered pleas for her to stay safe and she had simply nodded tearfully in response, not prepared to make them a promise she wasn't sure she could keep. As they exchanged final glances before departing, Hermione had the feeling that her parents were wondering if this was the last time they would see her. She would think them being overdramatic had she not recently experienced such a close brush with death…

In contrast to the stiff atmosphere in her own home, The Burrow was as noisy and full of life as ever. Professor McGonagall had sidealong apparated with her to the site of the lopsided but charismatic Weasley home. Loud noises rang out from the house, proving that the family was home despite the fact that it can't have been more than an hour since the Hogwarts Express had pulled into Platform Nine and Three Quarters. For once, Hermione had not made the familiar journey away from school with the rest of her friends; Professor McGonagall had thought it best to avoid drawing attention to her meeting with Hermione's parents on the crowded platform and they had travelled by floo to London before apparating to Hermione's home instead.

Mrs Weasley must have been looking out for their arrival because she suddenly appeared at the kitchen door and hurried over to them, looking relieved. "There you are, Hermione dear," she said motherly, pulling her into a strong hug before the young witch could even brace herself. Hermione couldn't deny being a little surprised at the intensity of the matriarch's greeting. Apart from those awkward few weeks when Mrs Weasley had suspected Hermione of playing with Harry's affections thanks to Rita Skeeter's ridiculous article, (something both women had long since moved on from) Mrs Weasley had always been very friendly and kind towards her – but this was another level of support and warmth.

Mrs Weasley withdrew and squeezed Hermione's arms, giving her an encouraging smile, though Hermione was a little taken aback by the hint of tears in the older woman's eyes. It was the first time she had been in Mrs Weasley's company since the incident in the Department of Mysteries and she could only assume that the matriarch's actions were due to Dolohov's curse. Hermione was deeply touched that Ron and Ginny's mother cared so deeply for her welfare and had to fight back tears of her own as Mrs Weasley asked if she was OK. Hermione nodded mutely and Mrs Weasley smiled with understanding, kissed the top her head and put her arm around her as she escorted her towards the kitchen.

"You'll stay for dinner, Minerva?" Mrs Weasley asked over her shoulder.

"No, thank you, Molly," Professor McGonagall replied politely as they walked into the home. "Given that it's technically the first day of the summer holidays, I think it's best for both the children and myself if we have a break from each other after the year we've had."

"Well, you'll have a cup of tea at least," Mrs Weasley insisted, steering Hermione into a seat at the long kitchen table.

"Thank you," the Deputy Headmistress replied, also taking a seat.

A cup was also placed in front of Hermione despite her not asking for one, but she knew better than to try and stop Mrs Weasley from providing refreshment to a guest in her house. It was a warm, summer's day but there was a definite comfort to be had as she sipped at her hot tea and listened to Mrs Weasley talk about their journey back from King's Cross via floo powder, and how the Order had made a point to talk to Harry's relatives so that they would treat him nicely during his stay.

All three women had distasteful expressions on their faces at the thought of Harry being in such an unloving environment after the recent devastating events. "He won't be there for long," Mrs Weasley said, attempting to lighten the mood, "Albus said two or three weeks at the most and then he'll be here with us." Hermione was relieved to hear so – she wished he didn't have to go back with his aunt and uncle at all but apparently Professor Dumbledore always insisted and Hermione was sure he had his reasons for forcing Harry to go somewhere he was so unwelcome. The contrast with her loving welcome from Mrs Weasley made her heart hurt for her best friend.

"Thank you for agreeing to have me here this summer, Mrs Weasley," Hermione said, "I really appreciate it and I apologise for any inconvenience I've caused."

"Oh, hush, dear," Mrs Weasley admonished, almost looking stern. "You know we love having you here; you're not an inconvenience at all!"

Hermione smiled at her gratefully, believing Mrs Weasley thought that was true, but then she felt her expression grow troubled and she said tightly, "I just hope that remains the case."

Hermione saw the two older witches exchange worried glances and she didn't blame them. It was no small matter to house someone who had been experiencing unprecedented symptoms from a dark curse.

"Think nothing of it," Molly said, hesitating for just a second before reaching across the table to take Hermione's hand. She had braced herself, just as she had done for the past few days, but there was no strange reaction at her touch and Hermione relaxed. "Arthur and I are more than happy to help in whatever way we can."

"And you know you have the school's support as well as the Order's," Professor McGonagall reminded her.

"Thank you," Hermione murmured, her throat constricting as her eyes started watering again. She wished she would stop getting so emotional when people were being nice to her but she recognised that it was hardly the worst problem to have. She cleared her throat and tried to project a stronger persona: she wanted to be seen as a resilient young adult, not a crying child and certainly not a vulnerable victim. "Hopefully, there's nothing to worry about." She shrugged her shoulders with a forced casualness that she knew wouldn't fool the other women. "Maybe my episode the other day was the end of it." Hermione ignored the twisting in her stomach as Dolohov's silky words echoed through her mind: _Do I think the curse is still within you? Yes. Do I think the spell will kill you if we find no counter-curse? Yes. Do I think there's something that can be done to keep its effects at bay?_ But she couldn't stop her body from shuddering at the memory of the sensation his touch had created within her. _Now that you know what my touch does to you, do I think you'll be able to stop your body craving it?_

Her hand trembled under Mrs Weasley's fingers and the matriarch opened her mouth in concern but she was prevented from saying anything when Ginny's voice called loudly across the kitchen.

"Hermione! Thank Merlin," the youngest Weasley greeted in evident relief and Hermione pulled her hand from Molly's grasp. "You're not going to believe the news," Ginny continued, then nodded politely at her Head of House, "Professor McGonagall."

"Miss Weasley," she replied, gracing her with a rare smile.

"Why don't you girls go upstairs so you can both unpack?" Mrs Weasley suggested, getting to her feet to carry the finished cups of tea to the sink. Hermione didn't miss the furtive look Mrs Weasley sent in Profoessor McGonagall's direction and she assumed that the two women wanted to talk privately about Hermione's situation. She didn't mind – just that brief foray into the curse and its possible consequences was enough for Hermione at that moment, and she expected that Mrs Weasley had many questions that she didn't really want to pose in front of her.

"Yes, of course," Hermione agreed, pushing back her chair as she stood. She turned to Professor McGonagall. "Thank you, Professor. I am very grateful to have had your support today."

"Not at all, Miss Granger," she replied, also getting to her feet. "Please don't hesitate to owl me if you have any concerns. I very much hope you have an uneventful summer."

Hermione laughed softly. "You and me both, Professor."

The 'news' that Ginny had been so eager to share turned out to be an engagement between her eldest brother, Bill, and the Beauxbatons Triwizard champion, Fleur Delacour. Hermione could instantly see that Ginny was less than thrilled by the idea.

"I've only met her a couple of times and that was more than enough," Ginny grumbled from where she lay on her bed, taking a break from the unpacking that she hadn't actually started, "but Bill's gone and asked Mum to let Fleur stay here for the summer so we can all get to know each other."

"Well, that sounds like a nice idea," Hermione commented as she transferred some of the muggle clothes she'd brought from home into an empty drawer.

Ginny snorted, seemingly unconvinced. "You've obviously forgotten what she's like." She spent a few more minutes making gloomy predictions about Fleur's impending visit and Hermione allowed herself a small smile at the distraction Ginny's grumblings provided.

Even more diverting were the yells coming the room above them. Having stayed at the Burrow on many occasions, Hermione knew that the corresponding room belonged to Fred and George. "I thought they'd moved out?" she posed to Ginny as they climbed the stairs to see what all the fuss was about.

"Oh, they have," Ginny replied over her shoulder. "They came to meet us at King's Cross. They use their room for storage now."

" – wouldn't have _dropped_ it on my foot if you hadn't levitated three of them at me at once!" they heard Ron complain grouchily as they got closer.

"Oh, don't be such a baby, Ronniekins," Fred teased as Ginny pushed open the door to the bedroom and Hermione saw Ron's face darken with a deep scowl at his brother's words. "You don't hear the _boxes_ complaining about their unpleasant encounter with your foot, do you?"

Ron looked to be about to make an irritated retort but his eyes zeroed in on the arriving girls. The anger melted away and his face went through a series of emotions as he looked at Hermione, before finally settling on a supportive smile. "All right, Hermione?" he greeted.

The twins turned around at Ron's words and contemplative looks appeared on their faces as they took her in. "Ah, if it isn't our favourite rebel rouser," George greeted, his thoughtful expression replaced by a small grin.

" _Rebel rouser_?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow in confusion. "Have you forgotten who I am in the few weeks since I've seen you? Besides, the term's 'rabble rouser' – not that it applies to me, either."

" _Wrong_ ," Fred denied flatly.

"As if we could ever forget you, Hermione," George scoffed, "And I meant what I said: _rebel_ rouser."

Hermione shook her head, still confused. "You've lost me."

"Oh, come on, don't act all innocent when we all know that it was _your_ idea to start the D.A right under Umbitch's nose," Fred told her. "And that was the first act that _roused the rebels_ into action, wasn't it? Georgie's just giving credit where credit's due."

George nodded in confirmation, his grin widening, before he gave her a wink, "From one troublemaker to another."

Hermione rolled her eyes but she felt her lips fighting to turn up into a smile.

"And it goes without saying that we're glad it takes more than a dark curse from an evil psycho to see you off," Fred added amiably. "We need all the rebels we can get at the moment."

Ron's eyes had widened in alarm at the nonchalance with which his brother had brought up Dolohov's curse but Hermione was pleased that Fred wasn't treating her any differently, that he wasn't treating her like a victim. "Thank you, Fred."

"So, what was Azkaban like?" George asked, eyeing her with great curiosity again.

" _George_ ," Ron hissed looking absolutely horrified at the abrupt question, which was rich considering that Ron normally wouldn't recognise tact if it slapped him round the face, but Ginny tensed too.

Hermione pressed her lips together. Although she didn't particularly want to think about the previous day's trip to the magical prison, she could understand the twins' curiosity and she couldn't find it in herself to be annoyed by the inquiry. The best way she could think of to deal with her experiences with the curse was to be as matter of fact about it as possible. "It was as horrible as you'd imagine it would be," she replied, trying to keep her voice even. Her friends had all gone very still and she realised they were waiting for more details. Given her late return from Azkaban, Madam Pomfrey's insistence that she return to the Hospital Wing to recuperate from her exertions, and the chaos of everyone else getting ready to take the train, she hadn't gotten the chance to really talk to her friends about what had happened in the infamous fortress. And, as much as he'd been scandalised by George's inquiry, she could tell from Ron's fixed stare that he was desperate to know more. If the roles were reversed, she knew she'd be just as keen.

After taking a deep breath, she described the exterior of the prison, the dementors that floated in the air around it, the chilling feeling that intensified with every step closer to the fortress and the screams that echoed throughout the place. She told them about how her encounter with Dolohov yielded disappointing results in terms of a counter-curse and his illegible notebook. However, feeling unable to voice his words aloud, she decided to withhold the Death Eater's grim predictions about the lasting effects of the curse and nor did she inform them of the sensations that had been created when he'd grabbed her wrist.

"Was he sorry?" Ginny asked. Ron scoffed at that and the twins looked at her like she was crazy.

"He's a _murdering Death Eater_ , Ginny," George reminded her in a tone that implied how very stupid that question was.

"I know," she replied with a huff, "I just wondered if there was any trace of humanity in him when he had to look Hermione in the eye – the sixteen year old girl he tried to kill."

They all looked at Hermione expectantly but she shook her head. "He wasn't sorry. If anything, he was amused by the whole thing."

All four Weasleys muttered curse words under their breath and, although she didn't approve of their language, she appreciated their anger on her behalf.

"Well, hopefully it's all over now and he rots in Azkaban for the rest of his miserable life," Ron said darkly. The others nodded and Hermione tried to ignore the anxiety that gnawed at her stomach at his optimistic words.

* * *

Over the next few days, Hermione felt the gazes of all inhabitants and visitors to the Burrow tracking her wherever she went. Frequent questions after her health, as well-meaning as they were intended, quickly began to irritate her and she threw herself into her study of the Russian language to avoid enquiries.

When she had entered the kitchen for dinner on the first night of her stay at the Burrow, Hermione's eyes were immediately drawn to a small group of Order members that had gathered at the far end of the table. Remus, Tonks, Arthur and Molly had their attention focused on Kingsley and he was speaking to them in low tones. Mad-Eye was also part of the group but, while his real eye was pointed towards his colleague, his magical eye was fixed on her. She flushed, not used to being under his scrutiny, but this discomfort increased when the other adults all glanced over at her arrival and Kingsley abruptly stopped talking. She was sure he had been telling them about their trip to Azkaban and she tried not to let her embarrassment show at the prospect that the other adults now knew how her body responded to Dolohov's touch even when she was conscious.

If they _did_ know, they at least had the grace not to mention it to her over the course of the evening and Mrs Weasley tried her best to enthuse the dinner guests about the start of the summer. In an alternate reality where Sirius hadn't recently died, Hermione wasn't recovering from a dark curse and the threat of Voldemort didn't loom on the horizon, it would have been a highly enjoyable dinner. Everyone did their best – particularly the twins – but the atmosphere was heavy with the topics that weren't being discussed.

Remus approached her after they had all finished off their bowls of homemade ice cream and, after reassuring him that she was as well as could be expected, she thanked him for his efforts in helping her when she had entered into her trance.

He shook his head, looking both sad and angry.

"His cheek was still very bruised when I saw him yesterday," she told him. "You must have hit him rather hard."

Remus grimaced. "Not one of my finest moments: assaulting an unarmed prisoner."

Hermione recalled the way Dolohov had so casually admitted to attempting to kill her. "He deserved it."

" _Absolutely_ ," Remus agreed bitterly as he, too, appeared to recall the Death Eater's actions and attitude. He left not long after, promising to visit soon, and his place was quickly taken by the intimidating presence of Mad-Eye Moody.

"It was quick thinking to cast that silencing charm, Granger," he told her and Hermione, who had been expecting a scolding or paranoia-infused lecture, fought hard to contain her shock at the compliment. "Saved your life, that did. We won't talk about how the overall situation was a case of utter lunacy from start to finish," he continued but, despite his words, he then preceded to talk to her at length about how stupid they'd been to break into the Ministry like they had. "Did you children learn nothing from me this year?" he asked her and then barked, " _Constant vigilance_ , Granger!" The slightly harsh tone alerted Mrs Weasley that Hermione might be in need of being rescued and, thankfully, she interrupted their conversation by asking Mad-Eye about the most suitable potions she should carry around in her handbag in case of an attack.

Kingsley and Tonks used the opportunity to steer Hermione out into the yard to give her a bit of space from the others and she shot them grateful smiles as she felt the mild evening breeze float over her skin.

"Don't let Mad-Eye get you down," Tonks advised.

"I'm fine," Hermione replied, shaking her head. "He was right; no one wants to tell us because you all just view us as children, but going to the Ministry _was_ so reckless of us."

"What's done is done," Tonks shrugged. "Looking back isn't going to change what's happened."

"No, it's not," Hermione agreed, "but I suspect that this war is going to get more dangerous and it's crucial that we learn from our past mistakes."

Kingsley's nod looked vaguely approving but he said, "Hopefully you and the other _children_ will have no further part to play in the war." Hermione made a face at his words, both at the likelihood of Harry being able to avoid being dragged into future battles (and consequently her, too, because wherever he went she was prepared to follow) but mostly at Kinglsey's emphasis on the word 'children'. "You may not like the term, Hermione, but you're all underage and we must remember that. I know that you, Harry and Ron may have already encountered more danger than most people face in their lifetime but – "

"I'm _not_ a child, Kingsley," Hermione insisted. "The law might state I am for another few weeks until my seventeenth birthday, but please don't treat me as one – not after what we've… not after yesterday." She felt her insides shrivel at the idea of Kingsley seeing her as a pathetic little girl after her stressful encounter with Dolohov. She held the intelligent auror's opinion in high regard, just as she did many of the Order members, and her pride couldn't handle the knockback.

"Hermione," he said calmly, bending slightly to make sure he was looking her directly in the eye, "I was merely intending to express that your age needs to be _respected_."

She felt her cheeks flush at her assumption and Tonks slung her arm around Hermione's shoulders giving her a friendly squeeze. "As if we could ever treat _you_ like a child, Hermione; you're more mature and intelligent than the vast majority of people we have to encounter on a daily basis," she stated, gesturing between herself and Kingsley. Then she scoffed, " _Helga's heart_ , you're more grown up than _I_ am! Right, Kingsley?"

The wizard looked amused and shrugged noncommittally, drawing another light laugh from Tonks and a smile from Hermione. "I'm sure I'll still miss your clumsy ways, Tonks," he told her fondly.

Hermione looked between them in confusion but Kingsley noticed the expression on her face and explained, "I am to start a new job on Monday."

"Oh," Hermione couldn't prevent her mouth dropping open in surprise. "You're not going to be an auror anymore?"

"Still an auror," he replied, looking a little amused at her shocked reaction. "I have been assigned to protect the Prime Minister; the Ministry is worried that Voldemort's followers might attempt an attack."

Hermione's mouth widened even further at this. "The _muggle_ Prime Minister?" she asked and Kingsley nodded.

"He doesn't know, of course," he explained, "at least not _yet_. I'm going to be working as his new secretary. It's a position that's not going to be widely publicised."

Hermione frowned. "Surely you shouldn't be telling me about your secretive new job?"

Kingsley shook his head. "It's better that you know. Obviously, the amount of magic I encounter whilst working has to be at the bare minimum and I will be difficult to contact unless through muggle means – Patronus messages would be a bit difficult to explain in Downing Street and I don't want to be constantly casting memory charms on my new colleagues. My time is going to be monopolised by my new role and, if there should be a setback in your recovery, I'm afraid I can no longer offer my services so freely like I did yesterday."

"I see."

"I didn't want you to think that your wellbeing was no longer of interest for me – I wanted to explain my future absences."

"That's," she began, very touched that he would go out of his way to reassure her, but she shook her head with a small smile, again struggling with the emotions that were created when someone was so nice to her. "You didn't need to do this."

He gently raised his hand. "As I told you before, Hermione, I am merely showing you the respect you deserve."

Her throat constricted with gratitude and she smiled. "Thank you."

He nodded. "If you have any further side-effects from the curse, Tonks is now your first port of call in the Ministry," he informed, turning to his colleague.

Tonks grinned at her. "Sorry about that," she teased and then became more serious, maybe sensing that the younger woman needed reassurance. "I've got your back, Hermione, I promise."

Hermione couldn't deny that it was a blow to lose Kingsley's reassuring support but Tonks was a more than adequate replacement. The metamorphagus might not have the wealth of experience of someone like Moody, or the calming presence of Kingsley, but Hermione held Tonks in very high esteem too.

Hermione was aware just how good your exam results needed to be to even be accepted on the auror training program and it was even more difficult to qualify from it. Tonks might be clumsy and light-hearted but she was still a highly competent witch and Hermione knew she could trust her. It certainly helped that the two young women already had a good personal relationship with Hermione viewing Tonks as something like a big sister rather than the more reserved relationships she had with some of the other Order members. And if anyone was going to respect Hermione's wish to be treated like the young adult that she was, it was Tonks.

Hermione put a grateful hand on Tonks' upper arm. "Thank you," she said earnestly. "I trust you."

Tonks pulled her into a hug and Hermione reciprocated the embrace. When they pulled apart, Hermione noticed that Kingsley looked pleased with the interaction.

"Now that we all know where we stand, I will take my leave," he said and then grimaced slightly. "I've got a lot of reading to do over the next thirty-six hours on the state of muggle politics so that I don't stick out like a dragon in a dancehall. But, before I do…" He paused and reached inside the pocket of his robes and pulled out a small pile of items. "I thought you might be able to make use of these." He pointed his wand at the items in his hand and enlarged them before handing them over to Hermione.

She accepted the assortment curiously and quickly saw that the items included a number of muggle books to aid in the process of learning Russian. There were also cassette tapes and CDs to learn the language too, as well as the matching devices to play the audio aides. She stared at the gifts, struck dumb that he would have thought to venture into the muggle world to procure the language materials for her and she wondered if Professor Dumbledore had asked him to do so.

The headmaster had been in the Entrance Hall to meet with her when Kingsley had escorted her back to the castle the previous day. She'd expressed her hope that he hadn't been waiting long for her but he claimed that her arrival had coincided perfectly with his desire to check the contents of the house hourglasses before that evening's Leaving Feast. However, the return of the twinkle to his eye told her not to take him seriously and she felt a rush of warmth that he had been looking out for her. Once they had all been ensconced in his office, Hermione had informed Professor Dumbledore in as steady a voice as she could manage of Dolohov's views of the curse and handed him the copy of the notebook that could hold the secret to curing her. She'd watched his face grow troubled as he leafed through the pages, confessing that he didn't speak Russian and, consequently, that the notes made almost no sense to him. Hermione had struggled to hide her disappointment at that admission, and it appeared that either Dumbledore had turned to Kingsley or the auror had noticed the devastated look on her face and decided to help of his own accord. Whatever the truth, Hermione felt a swell of emotion at the gifts.

"I would advise you not to play the cassettes or CDs inside the Burrow," Kingsley advised her as she continued to stare at the items in her hands. "Not only would the magic in the building be too interfering but if you left them lying around, I have no doubt that Arthur would accidentally break them within seconds!"

And, in the days since, Hermione was barely seen without one of her Russian books in her grasp. It was slow-going but she kept having to remind herself that she was attempting to learn a whole other language – something she'd never attempted before – and, not only that, but it used a different alphabet, too.

Hermione had heeded Kingsley's advice and only used the audio materials after walking a few minutes away from the Burrow. She would spend hours in the summer sun listening and repeating the difficult language to herself in the Weasley's orchard as Ron and Ginny practised their Quidditch skills around her.

Each day that passed, the incessant anxiety that clawed at her stomach and the tension that settled in her shoulders lessened slightly, because she had yet to experience any more side-effects from the curse. When she woke up each morning on her bed in Ginny's room, she let out a breath of relief that she hadn't slipped into another trance.

She knew she was still closely watched by everyone, of course, but she could feel the general mood around the Burrow lift when they saw that she was all right. Only Crookshanks still seemed utterly convinced that there was something different about her. Her intelligent cat had refused to come near Hermione ever since her return from the Department of Mysteries and no amount of fish could bribe the fluffy pet to do otherwise. Crookshanks was happy to chase garden gnomes and nap during the day, and settle in the lap of a Weasley in the evening, so Hermione left him be, even though the rejection still stung.

When she took a break from Russian, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, Hermione would study the news in the Daily Prophet closely. After their highly-biased reporting last year, she viewed the paper's articles sceptically. In the last few days there had been repeated calls for Fudge to resign and Mr Weasley had confided in her at dinner recently that he expected it wouldn't be long until the Minister stepped aside. Given Fudge's incompetence over the last year, Hermione thought that it was probably for the best; _she_ certainly didn't have any confidence in Fudge's ability to stop Voldemort.

Hermione looked up from her arithmancy book in surprise as Ginny threw open the door to their bedroom with a hearty scowl on her face. " _They're here_ ," she muttered darkly as she flopped onto the bed next to her. Hermione needed no further explanation of who 'they' were because Ginny had been moaning about the impending arrival of Bill and Fleur all day. "Mum says we all need to come down for dinner now."

Hermione raised her eyebrow at her friend's obvious lack of intention to move from her slumped position and closed her book, carefully making a mental note of the page she was on. "Well, you stay here if you want but I'm not prepared to upset your mother when she'll be trying her best to impress Fleur."

Hermione got to her feet and Ginny made a disgruntled noise before doing likewise. " _Fine_ ," she muttered.

Before exiting the room, Hermione considered grabbing a light jacket to slip over her summer dress but quickly dismissed the idea. She was already warm enough and she always felt overheated in the kitchen during dinnertime.

There was a distinctly awkward air to the atmosphere when Hermione and Ginny descended the stairs. Mrs Weasley was rushing about and talking even more than normal, no doubt to hide her insecurities in front of Bill's fiancée. Fleur, herself, was smiling demurely as she watched her mother-in-law-to-be fuss all around her. Mr Weasley and Bill were talking by the table, looking the most comfortable out of the room's occupants and Hermione was annoyed to see that Ron was standing in the middle of the kitchen with his eyes completely fixed on Fleur. Ginny purposefully barged into him as she went past, loudly announcing that she'd brought Hermione with her.

Ron suddenly jerked and then shook his head as though he was coming back to his senses. Hermione discretely rolled her eyes behind his back; he'd always been hopeless around Fleur during their fourth year at school.

Bill called out a friendly greeting to her, which she returned, before offering him her congratulations on his engagement. Hermione could feel Fleur's gaze on their interaction and she glanced over at the other woman and saw a curious expression on her face. She wondered if it was because Fleur remembered that Hermione had been Viktor's date to the Yule Ball, or that she was friends with Harry or had Bill told her about the curse she'd been struck with?

Hermione returned her gaze to Bill as he thanked her then said, "I hear that there have been no more problems with the curse."

Hermione nodded, trying not to let her tentative hopes soar too high. "So far," she agreed.

"That's really good news, Hermione," he said.

Mrs Weasley suddenly appeared at their sides with a tray topped with glasses of sparkling wine. "I know you're not of age, dear," she said to Hermione, "but a little won't hurt and we _are_ celebrating, aren't we?"

"Er, yes, I suppose, thank you," she spluttered in surprise. Bill picked up two glasses from the tray and held one out to her.

Their fingers grazed against each other's around the thin stem of the glass and Hermione withdrew her hand at once.

She gasped.

The glass fell and smashed loudly against the floor, attracting everyone's attention.

Hermione clutched her fingers against her chest, eyes wide and heart pounding.

 _No._

Mrs Weasley and Bill took steps towards her in concern but she flinched away from them.

The matriarch's gaze became even more concerned. "Hermione, what – what _happened_? Is it… Your hand, did it…"

Hermione closed her eyes to stem an onslaught of tears, her body trembling with the panic and dread that swept through her. Her stomach clenched violently and she had to fight back the overwhelming urge to throw up.

"Hermione, you need to tell us what happened." Mr Weasley's voice was still warm but the firmness in it brooked no argument.

Tears leaked through her closed eyes as her body told her how hopeless it was to deny the truth, to contain what couldn't be held back. It took all her strength just to make herself _breathe_.

"They burned," she admitted, but did it so quietly that she doubted any of them heard her. She tried again, her heart breaking and her hopes shattering with every word she said. "When my fingers touched Bill's, _they burned…"_

* * *

A/N: Not exactly a surprise twist there if you read the summary, but I think we can all appreciate how devastating that development is for Hermione. Apologies for the lack of Antonin in this chapter but we have to do a bit of laying down the groundwork before the story moves forwards. He's definitely in the next one!

This chapter ended up being far longer than I was anticipating but I doubt there's any complaints about that!

Let me know what you thought of the chapter and hopefully it won't be long until I update again.

Love,

Red

P.S. Happy Holidays!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N Hi guys! Thanks for your support on this story.

* * *

Antonin couldn't resist smirking when he saw her stride into his new cell with a defiant glare.

He'd be lying to himself if he denied that he'd been starting to doubt his prediction that she'd be in need of his touch to keep the curse away, and he was now very selfishly pleased to see that he was right. After all, if she didn't need him, he was absolutely certain that the new accommodation he'd negotiated for himself would be stripped from him even quicker than it had been given. And that was something he was keen to avoid at all costs. The simple quarters he now lived in were nothing short of a luxury compared to the grim and barren stone walls of his former cell. He could no longer hear the shrieks of the other prisoners as they gradually descended into madness, which was also a welcome change. But, most importantly, the bone-chilling effects of the Dementors were at a minimum inside his warded room. He would almost be able to believe he was no longer on this godforsaken rock were it not for the moments when the enchantments were briefly lowered as his meals were delivered. And it was all possible because of the angry young woman who was glowering at him, arms crossed defensively across her chest.

Antonin quickly ran his eyes over her frame. He noted that she wasn't hiding under the hood of her cloak this time. In fact, the swathing, black material was tied a lot more loosely, giving him a glimpse of the casual muggle garments she was wearing underneath. It was only a couple of hours after dawn and, though it might be summer, Antonin had never known the temperature in the isolated fortress to rise much above freezing but he could see from the flush on her cheeks that Granger was feeling the effects of a heat that he very much suspected had been caused by his curse. He recalled her fever-like appearance when she'd been first brought to him and reasoned that the rise in temperature would occur whenever she was away from his touch for too long. He wondered whether it was simply the rise in temperature that had instigated this trip or if she had experienced other symptoms too.

His musings were interrupted by the arrival of another person in the room. He had been expecting the return of Shacklebolt but was only a little surprised to see the young, female auror instead. Nymphadora Tonks had also been a suspected member of the Order of the Phoenix before her allegiance was confirmed at the Department of Mysteries. The last Antonin had seen of her, she'd been duelling her aunt, Bellatrix, and he was sure that Bella was disappointed that her half-blood niece had survived.

Antonin was pleased with the change in personnel – the young auror definitely didn't have the presence of someone like Shacklebolt and that was certainly to Antonin's advantage. The smirk he'd been sending in Granger's direction morphed into a sneer as he looked at the auror who'd levelled her wand at him.

"My business is with Granger, _not you_ ," he told her icily as he rose from the battered armchair the Minsitry had reluctantly gifted him for his quarters.

Tonks's wand followed his movements and she raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. "You can't possibly think I'm going to leave Hermione in here alone with you."

"You'll do as I say," Antonin insisted menacingly, his hard gaze reinforcing that the topic was not up for discussion. If he hadn't already read intelligence that Tonks was a metamorphagus, he would've thought the streaks of red that suddenly flashed in her limp brown hair to be purely his imagination and he felt a thrill of satisfaction that his words had unsettled her.

"You're not the one in control here, Dolohov," she argued, shifting her position in an attempt to maintain her authority.

"Well, _Nymphadora_ , you obviously don't understand the situation, do you?" he mocked, covertly pleased at the return of the brief red streaks in her hair. "Hufflepuff, weren't you? That would explain it…"

She simply glared at him in response so he continued. "The mudblood's here because the curse has clearly started affecting her again and my touch is the only known way of keeping it at bay. If you want me to touch her, you wait outside."

"You've already been given these quarters and your books in exchange for your cooperation, Dolohov," Tonks pointed out, her voice even despite the trace of anger he'd seen in her eye at his use of the blood slur.

"Wrong," he corrected harshly. "The books and accommodation were the terms for my assistance in researching the curse. Nothing has been negotiated for the cost of my touch."

A look of disgust adorned the auror's face as she closed the distance between them so that her wand was digging into his chest, directly above his heart. "You seem to have forgotten that your touch can be arranged against your will, Dolohov. Do you really think anyone would care if I stunned you whenever Hermione has to visit?"

Dolohov grinned wickedly. "Oh, I'm sure the powers-that-be would only be too happy to hear that such measures were necessary to control me. However, I should warn you, that if you have to resort to those extremes, my mental faculties are likely to suffer and I shall be in no state to find the counter to the curse; the mudblood will be dependent on me for the rest of her life." He casually took a couple of steps backwards so that the auror's wand was no longer jabbing into him. "Consider your options wisely, Nymphadora," he suggested before nonchalantly returning to the old armchair, maintaining eye contact with her the entire time.

The silence lasted a few seconds before it was broken.

"It's OK, Tonks," Granger said softly, drawing the attention of both adults to her. "I'll be fine. He can't do anything to hurt me, can he?"

Antonin didn't know whether to be pleased or disappointed that the girl underestimated him and Tonks certainly looked unconvinced. She finally lowered her wand and walked over to Granger to engage in a soft conversation that, despite his best (but discrete) efforts to listen, Antonin couldn't hear a word of. He observed the young women closely, deducing through their body language and expressions that they were quite familiar with each other and, remembering Granger's previous comfortability with Shacklebolt, he wondered how many members of the Order of the Phoenix she had been exposed to in the last year.

Tonks placed what Antonin could only assume was a reassuring hand on Granger's arm before the auror turned to face him once more. "You hurt her and you'll regret it," she vowed solemnly and then walked out of the enchanted door, disappearing from sight.

The silence returned as Antonin fixed his gaze back on Granger and she looked back uncertainly; the defiance she had entered the room with had greatly diminished. She glanced down at her hands and then back up to him. "How… how do you want to do this?" she posed, looking more nervous with every second that passed.

He rose once more from his seat and walked towards her. She flinched but forced herself to stand her ground as she watched his approach warily. "Not so fast, _zhar-ptitsa_ ," he admonished lightly, coming to a halt when there was just a couple of inches between them. "First, _you and I_ need to negotiate terms for my touch."

Her forehead creased as she frowned. "But – " Her eyes darted briefly to the door the auror was waiting behind. She turned accusing eyes on him but held her tongue.

Antonin chuckled. "You didn't think my demands were as simple as being alone with you, did you?"

Her gaze regained some of its former hostility and her shoulders tensed in anticipation. "What do you want?" she asked quietly.

"What do you _have_ that I might want?" he countered silkily, curious about what her response would be.

Her lips flattened into a thin line. " _What_ do you _want_?" she repeated in a voice not far off a hiss. "This is not a game."

She froze as he leant forwards so that his mouth was close to her ear but he was careful not to touch her. "Are you sure?" he queried softly. He sensed her shiver and he pulled back, smirking at the effect he'd had on her. Her pupils were blown wide and his intrigued eyes followed the movement of her slender throat as she swallowed.

Her small hands suddenly pushed him back, increasing the distance between them. Her eyes sparked defiantly at him but Antonin was far from displeased at the fieriness in her demeanour. "It's _not_ a game," she insisted heatedly. "Now, name your terms, Dolohov."

Antonin found he preferred this side to her. He'd loathed every Gryffindor he'd ever come across but, strangely, this little lioness standing up to him, the Death Eater who'd tried to kill her, only interested him more.

"Talk to me," he told her simply. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him. "Tell me what's going on in the magical world."

Her suspicion morphed into uncertainty. "You know I can't do that."

"I'm not asking you to tell me the plans of the Order of the Phoenix," he explained, "Just whatever I'd read about if _The Daily Prophet_ delivered here." She still didn't look convinced. "It's not like I can do anything with the information you choose to share with me," he pointed out, indicating the four solid walls around them.

"That's why you wanted Tonks to leave, isn't it?" Granger accused. "So she can't influence my decision."

Antonin shrugged. "Think what you like but that's the price for my touch. If you want me to soothe the fire in your blood, you'll tell me what's happening out there." He turned away from her dismissively and lay back onto his bed, folding his arms behind his head and shutting his eyes as he waited for her to decide.

He could almost sense the internal battle raging within her as she deliberated what to do and, as the seconds ticked by in silence, he actually began to doubt whether her self-preservation _would_ triumph over her strength of will. She was certainly loyal, no doubt about that, but he hadn't even asked that much of her! There really _was_ nothing he could do with the news from the outside world whilst still a prisoner but, by her reaction, you'd think he'd asked her to betray the Order's deepest, darkest secrets! Fucking noble Gryffindors. That old fool Dumbledore certainly had this little mudblood wrapped around his fingers…

"N-nothing's really happened yet."

Antonin's eyes snapped open at the sound of her voice.

 _Finally._

He had to resist the strong urge to smirk, aware that it would probably make her clamp up. Instead, he fixed an inquisitive expression on his face and he sat up. "What do you mean?" he asked curiously.

She bit her lip, looking a little distressed at having spoken at all and he held back a scoff at how affected she was by her actions. The girl was ridiculously soft hearted; she wouldn't last long when the Dark Lord triumphed over magical Britain – if she even lived that long; being the mudblood best friend of Harry Potter certainly made her a target and, if she kept recklessly throwing herself into dangerous situations like at the Department of Mysteries, it would only be a matter of time!

He wondered if he might be able to gradually instil a bit of Slytherin self-preservation in her so that she might live long enough for him to see out the rest of his sentence (before the Dark Lord's forces broke him free) without having to move back to his old cell…

Taking this notion and her unease into account, he decided to soften his strategy slightly: maybe a bit of give-and-take would be a bit more effective in this case.

He got to his feet and approached her slowly, his hands held out in front of his body where she could see them. Her expression showed a range of different emotions as she watched him come closer and he noticed her fists clenched at her side. When he was a couple of inches away from his fingertips grazing the backs of her hands, he paused, and raised his eyes back up to hers, waiting for her consent.

She gave him the smallest nod but it was definitely there. He pressed the pads of his fingers around her taut fists and he saw the tension melt away from her at once. It really was fascinating to watch her body respond to his touch. Her eyes fluttered closed and there was a hitch in her breathing as he gently manipulated her hands so that they lay flat against his own.

He knew that he ought to be disgusted that he should have to endure this mudblood's touch but if it was the price to pay to keep the Dementors at bay then he would do so every day if necessary. Besides, it didn't really feel so bad…

"What did you mean when you said nothing's happened yet?" he pressed quietly as he gently traced the pads of his fingers up and down her palms.

She made a humming noise that sounded suspiciously like contentment to Antonin's ears but her eyes remained closed. "There have been no attacks or suspicious activity," she replied breathily. "None that the _Prophet's_ reporting, anyway."

"The Dark Lord's return has been reported?"

She sighed. "It only took them a year," she murmured wryly but he could detect a deeper anger within her than her tone suggested. "But that was mostly Fudge's doing," she allowed with a small shrug. His fingers travelled higher, disappearing beneath the sleeves of her cloak as he explored the smooth skin beyond her wrists; his touch silently encouraging her to keep talking. "He's still Minister but the calls have started for him to resign. If he's got an ounce of decency he'll leave so that someone else can start fixing the mess his months of denial have left the country in. Mr Weasley thinks –"

She stopped abruptly and he felt her body tense, her eyes flying open. He realised at once what had brought about the sudden change – her mention of Arthur Weasley. Her knowledge of the bloodtraitor's opinions on the state of magical Britain were _not_ likely to be published in the pages of _The Daily Prophet_. It was much more likely that she had discussed this topic with Weasley first-hand and, therefore, the Weasley residence was logically the location at which she was spending her summer. That, or she was able to converse with Arthur Weasley one another occasion – an Order meeting, perhaps? Antonin suspected not. Either way, Granger looked concerned with her slip of the tongue – as though her telling him would directly lead to the death of the red-haired man and his family. It was interesting information, of course, as was her reaction, and Antonin tucked it all away in his head, but he couldn't foresee it of being great consequence.

Having temporarily paused at her sudden rigidity, he resumed his massaging actions along her forearms in an attempt to distract her but she watched him warily. "I imagine the Ministry will be seeking out a strong candidate to replace him," he mused, hoping she would respond. "No doubt someone with a background in law enforcement – perhaps even someone from the auror department?"

Her stony gaze and sealed lips were all the response that he got.

Antonin withdrew his hands and took a couple of steps away from her, watching with satisfaction as disappointment at the loss flashed across her face before she covered it with a stubborn clench of her jaw as she crossed her arms across her chest.

"You seem to have forgotten the terms of our arrangement," he said with the slightest hint of menace in his voice.

She let out a huff of frustration and looked away from him, eyes downcast as she chewed at her bottom lip again.

Antonin was beginning to tire of her overly emotional responses. Were all Gryffindors this hard work? On principle, he'd avoided them all as best he could whilst at Hogwarts so his personal information on the matter was lacking, but he suspected that he'd been landed with a particularly cumbersome one.

"It feels wrong," she muttered, glancing up at him. "Telling you that information – I…" she trailed off and shook her head.

"What _exactly_ do you think I'm going to do with the news you tell me?" he questioned, his voice giving away some of his exasperation. "I see no one. I _will_ see no one apart from you until the day I die if the Ministry have their way," he reminded her bitterly, a scowl marring his features.

"And what if you escape again?" she posed, looking troubled. "What then?"

Antonin let out a bark of laughter. "You _really_ think the Dark Lord is going to care about Arthur Weasley's opinions on the Minister for Magic?"

Her cheeks flushed at his argument, perhaps seeing the validity of his words. "It still feels wrong," she murmured defensively.

"Isn't it wrong to deny prisoners any knowledge of the outside world?" he proposed, attempting to play on the damned fucking morality that meant so much to her.

She sent him a sharp look. "You killed people," she pointed out flatly.

"Only people that tried to kill me first," he replied coolly and she frowned.

" _I_ didn't try to kill you," she reminded him.

"And _I_ didn't kill you," he retorted.

"Not for a lack of trying," she shot back.

"True," he admitted in a voice not far off from a growl as his irritation with her morals began to show through. "I've done some terrible things and I expect I will do more if I ever get out of this _fucking_ hellhole. You are perfectly vindicated in thinking me a monster and to be suspicious of my motives, but…" he paused, realising he had advanced on her with such wildness in his demeanour that she had backed herself up against the wall for the first time. He forced himself to take a deep breath so that he would continue in a calmer manner. "Not knowing what is happening in the world beyond your cell is maddening – like nothing exists outside of the four walls, like _you_ don't exist anymore. Maybe I don't deserve to be accorded the right to be treated like a human being but I have been given you; _gifted_ you, it might be argued. And I am very much the type of person that will take advantage of your visits and the influence the necessity of my touch has over you to make my life as bearable as I can make it. You think _you_ would be able to cope with not knowing what's happening out there if the roles were reversed?" She frowned and he gently touched his fingers to hers again, making the most of her uncertainty. "It feels uncomfortable because you're giving me what I want. In your mind you can't accept that it doesn't automatically make it wrong… But it's just knowledge of the outside world, Granger, nothing more," he assured her as his fingers traced up her arms, making her shiver and close her eyes once more.

"Knowledge can be very powerful," she pointed out cautiously, as her fingers instinctively grabbed at the fabric near his elbows to prevent him from pulling away.

Antonin smirked. "Very," he agreed softly. "As it will be for me; whatever news you give will feed me, _sustain me,_ through my research."

The next few minutes passed in silence and Antonin was satisfied enough with the encounter to not push for more information. If there had been no activity from the Dark Lord's forces then there wasn't much she could tell him (or, more accurately, would be _willing_ to tell him) that was of interest to him. It would be far better for her to feel like she had gotten more out of this first exchange without there being any implications. On her next visit he would push for a lot more and he fully anticipated that there _would_ be a lot more to say on that occasion. Antonin was sure that the Dark Lord would start his attacks soon whilst the Ministry was still attempting to organise itself in the wake of the revelation that their worst nightmare had returned. Delaying for much longer would be a wasted opportunity for the Dark Lord to strike when his opponents were so weak, especially if the Ministry elected a stronger, more capable leader.

Granger let out a contented sigh and shifted her feet slightly to position her body all-but flush against him. She had to have done so unconsciously because even Antonin was mildly uncomfortable with how close they were to each other and he could only imagine her reaction should she open her eyes to see the gap between them to be almost non-existent. He focused on continuing the soothing actions of his hands as they explored the length of her arms as far as the material of her sleeves would allow him. He had half a mind to suggest that she remove her cloak to allow him easier access when she murmured something he didn't quite catch.

"What did you say?"

"Amelia Bones and Rufus Scrimgeour," she said slightly louder this time, leaving him a little puzzled until she clarified. "They're the favourites for the Minister job."

"I see," he murmured lowly, hiding from her just how pleased he was that she had chosen to divulge this information without any persuasion from him. If he'd thought he was happy with their first exchange before, that satisfaction increased tenfold after her words and he determined not to say or do anything antagonistic to set him back again. He would make slipups along the way, he was almost certain of that, but he felt a renewed confidence that he'd have his little _zhar-ptitsa_ eating out of his hand before long…

* * *

"I know that you'll want to curse me if I ask this again," Tonks began apologetically as she and Hermione walked up to the Burrow after returning from Azkaban, "but are you _sure_ you're OK?"

Hermione resisted letting out a noisy sigh of exasperation because she knew Tonks was just worried for her. "He didn't hurt me, Tonks, I promise," she replied wearily. "He just used his hands on my arms and I don't think he even called me a mudblood once after you left the room."

Tonks frowned. "Well, just be careful, Hermione. He's a sly, manipulative bastard that one. You'd think all those years in Azkaban would leave him a bit more unhinged, wouldn't you? But he knew exactly how to play his hand to get me to leave you _and_ he kept calling my bloody _Nymphadora_ just to get under my skin. How do you think he knew that would work?" she posed and then smiled wryly at Hermione. "Well, it _is_ a ridiculous name, it's a safe bet that I'd hate it, I suppose."

Hermione let Tonks' words fill her mind so that she didn't have to think too much. She wasn't surprised that the auror kept asking her if she was alright because, the truth was, she most definitely _wasn't_. However, the last thing she wanted was Tonks and the others hovering over her in concern; she just had to keep her feelings buried until she was alone.

Mrs Weasley hurried over to her as soon as she entered the Burrow's kitchen, anxious to know that everything had gone smoothly. Hermione tried to inject a little more emotion into her wooden replies, knowing that Molly would need a lot of convincing before accepting Hermione's claim that she was fine.

Other members of the family arrived in the kitchen as news of Hermione's return spread through the Burrow, while Molly forced Hermione into a chair at the table and pushed a plate of toast towards her.

"You barely touched your dinner or breakfast, dear," Mrs Weasley reminded her. "You eat your fill now that it's over."

Hermione eyed the toast apathetically, not in the least bit hungry, especially with the way everyone was trying not to stare at her. "Actually, Mrs Weasley, I'm just very tired. Would it be alright if I went to bed for a little while?"

"Of course, dear," she replied, a look of motherly concern showing on her face. "The plate's charmed to keep the toast warm so just take it up with you in case you get hungry."

Hermione thanked Tonks and the Weasleys for looking out for her before forcing herself to walk at a reasonable pace up to the room she shared with Ginny. She placed the plate on the bedside table, resolving to eat a little at some point so as to keep Mrs Weasley pacified, before unclasping her cloak. As she returned the garment to the wardrobe, she shivered, realising just how much her body temperature had been lowered by Dolohov's touch. Involuntarily, she glanced down at her previously concealed arms and felt her stomach clench in shame at the recollection of how wonderful his hands had felt tracing patterns across her skin; about how she had given him what he wanted just so she could feel his touch…

She couldn't bear to look at the offending flesh so she roughly grabbed a sweater, pulling it over herself as the first tears began to trickle down her cheeks.

When Ginny cautiously entered the room a couple of minutes later, Hermione's tears had developed into full blown sobs as she sat on the floor, hugging her legs to her chest as she cried into her knees.

Ginny immediately sank next to her friend, wrapping her in a tight embrace. "Oh, Hermione…"

* * *

A/N Thanks for reading! Hopefully this made up for the lack of Antonin in the last chapter! Let me know if you liked it.

Love,

Red

PS Happy New Year! I hope 2018 is a great year for you.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N Hi guys! Sorry it's taken a while to update - I wanted to give you this chapter last weekend by the site wouldn't let me upload anything!

* * *

The next time Hermione's skin started to burn, it wasn't quite as devastating, but it still left her feeling like she might throw up.

Ten days had passed since her last encounter with Dolohov and it was now the middle of July. The summer heat had yet to really grace the British Isles but the temperature Hermione was experiencing felt more like she was currently somewhere near the Med. The steady increase of her internal heat was indicative enough, but she'd also become aware of a prickling of her skin over the last couple of days whenever it made contact with someone else's. It was uncomfortable but bearable. Unfortunately, the prickling had developed into the familiar burning and it was agreed between herself, Tonks and Mr and Mrs Weasley that it was time for her to visit Dolohov again before things deteriorated further.

It was late in the afternoon by the time Hermione arrived at Azkaban with Tonks, and she scrutinised the building much more closely than she normally would have. According to the _Prophet_ , large numbers of the Dementors had deserted the fortress to join Voldemort's side. The day the article came out, Tonks visited the Burrow to reassure Hermione that it was still safe for her to visit the prison: there were enough Dementors there to maintain control and they were being bolstered by a rotation of aurors.

Hermione saw a few of the creatures floating around the perimeter of the fortress, just like always, but when they entered through the familiar metal door, they were greeted by a scowling auror. Hermione reasoned that it couldn't be much fun to be stationed there, even if it was for only a few days at a time, and she was relieved when he didn't keep them waiting long before giving them permission to enter.

Tonks's patronus stalked ahead of them and Hermione kept her hood pulled low over her head, as usual, to avoid any attention from the people in the cells. She wondered if it was her imagination that the prisoners seemed quieter with less Dementors around, but they arrived at the door to Dolohov's cell before she could ask Tonks her opinion.

Hermione tried to mentally brace herself for the upcoming encounter, determined to present herself more confidently this time. This was a business transaction, nothing more. She didn't need to let her emotions get involved.

When the door was opened, Dolohov was stood waiting for her, probably alerted by the magic that was used to unlock his cell. His gaze was unreadable as he watched her pull the hood back from her head but it darkened when Tonks stepped in behind her.

Tonks quickly cast her eyes around the room to check that everything was in order, gave Dolohov a dismissive glance, nodded supportively to Hermione and then stepped back out again.

Despite her vow to be more confident, Hermione already felt herself faltering. What should she say? This wasn't exactly a friendly get-together between two acquaintances – she cared nothing for his welfare and neither did he for hers. There was plenty she could tell him about what had happened since her last visit (though the news about deserting Dementors would certainly not be shared) but did she just go straight into it? There was no point in playing along with pleasantries, was there?

"You think too much," he murmured, shaking his head so that the dark curls on his head bounced softly. "You want to take your cloak off? It'll make this easier."

Hermione nodded, an automatic word of thanks on the tip of her tongue before she stopped herself – she didn't owe that man an ounce of gratitude! She unclasped her cloak and laid it neatly on a nearby shabby cabinet, very aware of his gaze as he followed her movements. The rush of cold air over her skin, however, was little relief against the fire burning inside of her.

When she turned back, she was surprised at the way he was staring at her. She had begun to accept it as normal for his gaze to be focused on her during her visits, but this was something different. It took her a moment to realise that his dark eyes weren't piercing into her own like they usually did, but were fixated a little further south. Hermione glanced down at herself and understood how her denim shorts and thin-strapped, blue-chequered t-shirt might have caught his attention. Even if he hadn't spent the vast majority of the last decade and a half in prison, he wouldn't have seen such revealing clothes anywhere but the muggle world – somewhere she was sure he would never deign to go.

When she'd picked out clothes to wear that morning, she'd simply settled for something that would keep her cool, not having considered what would happen when she entered his cell – she'd been much more concerned with maintaining an unemotional front. His stare was somewhat embarrassing but she was relieved to see that he wasn't leering, just genuinely surprised. It was so unusual to see _his_ mask slip that she actually let out a small laugh.

Startled from his gawking, his eyes briefly returned to hers before he frowned at the floor. "That's quite a choice of attire," he muttered.

"It's perfectly normal for the times," she defended, feeling a strange sense of surrealism at having a discussion about fashion with a Death Eater.

"Surely only in the muggle world," he sneered and she realised that her clothing was making him uncomfortable. _Good._

"Yes," she agreed, "but your curse raises my temperature after a few days away from you and robes leave me far too hot. Now, shall we get this over with?" she proposed, head tilted up confidently and hands on her hips.

"By all means, _zhar-ptitsa_ ," he agreed with mock-politeness, even offering her a sarcastic inclination of his head, "but I hope you have something to tell me first."

Hermione acknowledged the uneasy feeling in her stomach. She didn't try to fight it but accepted the warning it gave her.

After her breakdown upon her return from her last visit to Azkaban, Hermione had confided in Ginny about Dolohov's stipulation that she provide him with details about life beyond the prison (something she had been unwilling to share with Tonks or the other Weasleys). Ginny had called the Death Eater a few choice words for making any sorts of demands of Hermione and then reassured her that she shouldn't feel so guilty about talking to him.

"As long as you're not sharing anything personal with him, it's not the worst thing in the world, is it?" Ginny pointed out, her arm still around Hermione's shoulder. "I'm sure the sick bastard could come up with something much more depraved if he wanted to, so a bit of news can't really hurt. He can't exactly do anything locked up in there, can he?"

"I know," Hermione agreed heavily. "But it just doesn't feel right. Giving him what he wants so that he'll touch me makes me feel like, like I'm _dirty_." A few more tears leaked out of her eyes.

"Well, you're _not_ ," Ginny argued vehemently. She removed her arm from Hermione's shoulder and rolled onto her knees so that she was directly facing her. "Don't you dare let that prick's manipulations have you doubting your self-worth; you're a loyal, brave, kind-hearted person, that's been dealt a shitty hand. You don't deserve this, Hermione. I know it's going to be hard but you're a strong, brilliant witch and you're going to get through this. And you're not alone – you've got me, Ron, Harry, Mum, Dad, Tonks and the whole bloody Order behind you if you need them. We're _with_ you, Hermione – remember that the next time you start doubting yourself…"

 _We're with you_ , Hermione heard the passionate vow replay in her mind and took courage from it as she did what she had to in order to stop the curse from consuming her. "Fudge resigned a few days ago," she told him shortly. "The new Minister is Rufus Scrimgeour."

Dolohov seemed to mull over the news for a moment and then started to approach her. She felt a little thrill run along her spine at the impending prospect of his healing touch. She hated herself a little for it but had to remind herself that it was only natural for her body to react in such a way. "Not Bones, then?" he asked conversationally, running his knuckles down her right arm, the motion sending soothing and pleasurable ripples throughout her body.

His touch was so distracting that it took her a moment to recall his question. When she did, the answer made her stomach churn unpleasantly. "No, not Madam Bones," she replied, reaching out to grasp his wrist so that he'd stop his movements for a moment. "She's dead. _Murdered_."

His eyes widened ever so slightly at this revelation. "I see," he murmured.

"They think, because she was such a powerful witch, that it was done by Voldemort himself," she informed him but immediately gasped as he suddenly gripped her forearms painfully tight.

" _Don't say his name_ ," he snarled, his nose nearly touching hers as he leaned towards her malevolently.

Hermione wrenched her arms from his hold and pushed him back, equally angry. "It's just a name," she retorted.

" _Glupaya devushka_ ," he spat derisively and, though her knowledge of the Russian language wasn't advanced enough to know what he said, Hermione could easily tell it was some sort of insult. "Talking of things she doesn't understand," he sneered.

"I understand the psychology behind making people fear the name in order to make them fear the person even more," she replied haughtily.

"They _should_ fear him," Dolohov responded darkly. " _You_ should fear him, _gryaznokrovka_. Do you have any idea what he would do to you if he got his hands on you: Potter's own _mudblood whore_."

She slapped him across the face as hard as she could. All of the anger and pain she'd experienced because of him were channelled into the swing of her hand, and the resounding crack was satisfyingly loud, even if it left her fingers stinging terribly. However, that was the least of her concerns when Dolohov advanced on her, his face furious and eyes glittering with menace.

"What, you don't think you're a _whore_ , Granger?" he snarled as she instinctively backed up quickly until the wall prevented her from going any further. She glared defiantly up at him and he laughed cruelly, placing one of his hands on the wall beside her head as the other slid into her hair, cupping her face. Hermione's breath hitched in her throat; her fear coupling with the unwanted pleasure his touch awakened in her. "There's more than one way to be a whore, _sweetheart_ ," he said with mock-tenderness, as his thumb rubbed lazily over her cheek. "It's not just about letting someone _fuck_ you," he sneered, grabbing her chin sharply. "It's about selling a part of yourself for something you want; just like how _you_ give _me_ your knowledge of life outside these walls so that I'll touch your filthy body."

Hermione jerked her head to the side to free her lower face from his grasp and stared at him venomously. "Just like _you_ give _me_ your touch so that you don't have to go back to your old cell!"

He chuckled, eyes flashing. " _Exactly_ , _zhar-ptitsa_ ," he agreed. "We're _both_ whores. At least _I_ can admit it to myself." He laughed again, seeming to enjoy her hateful gaze. His fingers brushed over the skin just above her knees and she jerked in surprise – not expecting his touch there nor the sensations that sparked through her. She lifted her hands to push him away but he ghosted his fingers along her forearms, up towards her shoulders, and the pleasure it created was utterly diverting. When he pressed the pads of his fingers to the tension in her shoulders, she bit back a moan and felt her knees weaken. If she was at all conscious of her actions, she would've been deeply embarrassed but, for the moment, all she could focus on was how wonderful she felt.

All of a sudden, her bliss was broken.

Dazedly, she opened her eyes (not even aware that she had closed them) and saw Dolohov leaning casually against the armchair, arms crossed. However, the danger that still burned in his eyes told her a different story and she watched him warily. "You seem to have forgotten that this is an exchange," he reminded her. "My touch for your words."

Hermione took a moment to get her breath back to a more regular rhythm, quickly becoming mentally exhausted by the changeable dynamic between them. When she remembered some of the news she was prepared to share with him, she frowned. "Your comrades on the outside have finally come out of the shadows. There was some sort of attack on muggles in Somerset and it's suspected a giant was involved."

As she'd started talking, Dolohov had pushed himself away from the armchair to close the distance between them again. He halted once he was in touching distance but kept his arms crossed. "That's not quite going to work this time."

Hermione's frown deepened. "What do you mean?"

"You want my touch – " he began.

"I don't _want_ it," she interrupted testily. "I need it."

"Fine, you _need_ my touch," he clarified and an unpleasant smile twisted across his face, "but I'm not going to give it to you until you _tell_ me."

Apprehension pooled in her stomach. Everything about his tone and posture told her he was playing a new game that she definitely wouldn't enjoy. "Tell you _what_?"

His hands languidly travelled up the wall next to her arms, though he was careful not to touch her, and they stopped in a dominant position either side of her head. Hermione tried not to shrink back from the intimidating figure that loomed over her and lifted her chin stubbornly. He smirked at her small show of defiance, the action only heightening the sparkling amusement in his eyes. Abruptly, he darted his head forwards so that his mouth was less than an inch from her ear but her alarm at his proximity didn't prevent her from hearing him whisper wickedly, " _That you're a whore._ "

He pulled back just as quickly to watch the effect his words had on her, to see the shock and utter _fury_ sweep through her. She wanted to lash out at him again, to curse and scream at him for being such a reprehensible _bastard_ but she knew that to see her hurting, to see her lose control, was exactly what he wanted and she was damned if she was going to give it to him. So she tried to argue logically instead. "You don't get to change the rules when it suits you," she seethed through gritted teeth.

"Of course I do," he corrected, looking very satisfied with himself. " _I'm_ the one with the power here, Granger, and don't you forget it." His low, warning tone was replaced with something much smugger as he said, "Now, admit you're a whore and I'll give you what you need."

He was punishing her, she realised, for slapping him earlier. He couldn't risk hurting her physically in case Tonks, or someone else, found out and made him pay, so he was attacking her pride and self-worth instead; sticking the knife into the person she viewed herself to be.

But what was the big deal?

It was only a word, wasn't it?

And so what if there _was_ some truth to it? She'd already admitted that it made her feel dirty to give Dolohov information so that he would soothe the curse. Putting a name to what that might make her wouldn't cost her anything…

Except it _would_.

And the price would be far greater than a knock to her pride.

Hermione was right when she denied last time that the two of them were engaged in a game because it would be more accurate to state that they were fighting a war.

She was certainly up against it in their conflict because, as he'd pointed out, Dolohov held the trump card – his touch. However, that didn't mean that she would surrender to his demands and every whim that took his fancy. No, she needed to take a stand to let him know that she wasn't so easily controlled, that he couldn't break her or degrade her.

After all, if she didn't draw the line somewhere, she dreaded to think what he would try and make her do next…

Hermione could still see the red mark on his cheek caused by her hand. She didn't feel guilty for slapping him, even though it had more than likely led to his ultimatum, because he needed to damn well know that she wasn't going to let him treat her like that.

She lifted her gaze to meet his and wanted to spit at him for the amusement she saw there at her expense. " _Go to hell_ ," she hissed, punctuating her words with a swift jerking of her knee into his groin.

He staggered away from her with a string of furious Russian escaping from his lips, leaving her free to grab her cloak.

"The condition still stands, mudblood," he snarled at her, trying to look intimidating whilst half-crouched with his hands held protectively over his groin. "If you don't want to _die_ then you'll say those fucking words."

"You won't let me die," she told him coldly. "Not if you don't want to be thrown back to your old cell. Or maybe they'll give you the Kiss?" she added sneeringly.

"Fucking bitch," he spat venomously. "I'm going to enjoy making you _beg_ for my touch the next time you start to burn; I'm going to have you on your knees, like the true whore that you pretend you're not." He slowly advanced on her as she backed away to the door. He was limping slightly but that didn't make his demeanour any less frightening. "And, you know what, when I finally agree to touch you, you're going to be so desperate for it that you're going to _thank_ me for it."

Hermione wrenched open the door without saying anything in reply because, as much as it sickened her, she knew that, with the all-encompassing power his touch had over her, he was probably right.

"And I'm just going to _laugh_!" he taunted her, mirth already clouding his tone as she slammed the door behind her.

* * *

A/N Thanks for reading! Quite a few of you called for Hermione to stand her ground so there you go! This chapter was shorter than what I'd normally post for this fic but this was such a key scene between them that it had to stand on its own.

Don't forget to review!

Love,

Red

PS For those interested, I've started a Theo/Hermione fic called 'Figure It Out' if you want something else to read!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thank you for all your support!

FYI, there's a bit of borrowed dialogue from Half Blood Prince in this chapter. I obviously don't own it!

* * *

Harry wasn't at all surprised to find Hermione with her head buried in a book. After all the turmoil of recent events, it was a very reassuring sight. She hadn't noticed his approach and he took the opportunity to observe her for a moment. They'd been apart for just three weeks but Harry had written to her nearly every other day, anxious to know that she was alright. Her responses always assured him that she was but he didn't know whether she was being honest. After all, he always told _her_ that he was fine in each of his letters even though he really wasn't: how could he be after losing Sirius and finding out about the prophecy?

Harry pushed those thoughts out of his mind and focused on his best friend, sat a few feet away from him, resting against one of the apple trees in the Weasleys' orchard with her book propped up against her thighs. It wasn't often that Harry would look at Hermione with such close scrutiny because, well, she was always there – a reliable, constant presence by his side. The thought of that possibly not being the case for much longer twisted his stomach unpleasantly and he wished he hadn't eaten quite so much of the scrambled eggs that Fleur Delacour (of all people) had delivered to his bedroom less than thirty minutes ago. But Harry would hardly blame Hermione if she chose to distance herself from him. After all, it was Harry's fault that she had been cursed – even if she told him it wasn't – and he would probably never forgive himself for leading his friends into such danger. It was truly a miracle that all of the students had managed to survive.

 _Survive… Neither can live while the other survives…_

Harry grimaced. Ah, yes, and he had yet to even share with his two best friends the contents of the prophecy between himself and Voldemort. When Dumbledore had dropped Harry off at the Burrow late the previous evening, he had recommended that Harry tell Hermione and Ron about the prophecy. The idea made him more than a little apprehensive because he had no idea how his friends would react and now, seeing the tell-tale dark circles under Hermione's eyes, Harry pondered over whether to tell her at all – she had enough going on in her life with that damned curse and she didn't need Harry burdening her with his revelation.

Hermione seemed to become aware of his presence because she suddenly glanced up in his direction. The intent expression she'd been favouring whilst scrutinising the book melted away into something much warmer and gentler. "Harry!" she greeted, smiling, as she closed her book and got to her feet. "It's so good to see you."

"Hi, Hermione," he replied, stepping forward to walk into her embrace. He stiffened almost immediately in her arms as something occurred to him and he pulled back in alarm. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Hermione shook her head and slipped her arm through his. "No, it's fine, but thank you for checking."

"Oh, good," he sighed in relief as he allowed her to pull him down to sit against the tree with her.

She squeezed his arm affectionately. "It's so good to have you here. I hate to think of you shut up in that house with the Dursleys. Did they treat you alright?"

"We had very little to do with each other, to be honest," Harry admitted. "It's better all round that way." Hermione gave him a sympathetic look that, after a few seconds, evolved into one of a close scrutiny that he suspected looked very similar to the one he had employed himself a couple of minutes earlier. He understood why she was doing it but at least _he'd_ been discrete about it! "Have I got something on my face, Hermione?"

"What? No," she said quickly, her cheeks reddening. "I just haven't seen you in so long."

"It's only been three weeks," he pointed out, amused at her attempts to cover her obvious observations.

"Well, it feels like much longer," she argued, her demeanour becoming more sombre and he didn't doubt that her words were true. She forced a smile onto her face. "So, what happened? We weren't expecting you to arrive until this morning but Mrs Weasley said Dumbledore dropped you off in the middle of the night!"

Harry could tell that she was very intrigued but the enthusiasm in her eyes waned slightly as he explained about Dumbledore using him to persuade Slughorn to come out of retirement.

"Oh, I see," she murmured. "Well, do you think Slughorn will be a good Defence Against the Dark Arts professor?"

"I don't know," he replied with a shrug. "He can't be any worse than Umbridge, can he?"

Hermione made a scathing noise low in her throat and Harry grinned – he knew that being a bad teacher was not far off criminality in her view. "Umbridge was forced on us by the Ministry, so if Dumbledore has actually sought out Slughorn then I trust his judgement," she declared. "Merlin knows we need someone decent now more than ever."

"He's going to give me private lessons this year," Harry told her.

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. "Slughorn is?"

"No, _Dumbledore_ ," he clarified. "He told me so in the Weasleys' broom shed." If he thought that Hermione had looked surprised before, the intensity in her expression increased hugely at the news that their headmaster was going to be tutoring him.

"Wow, Harry, that's, that's" she stammered. "What's he going to be teaching you?"

"Er, I dunno exactly," he admitted. "He didn't say. He didn't really say why, either." Harry's heart beat very quickly in his chest as he considered his next words. Dumbledore had encouraged him to tell his friends and Harry knew that he would struggle if he tried to keep the knowledge of the prophecy to himself. And, if he was going to tell Ron, he _had_ to tell Hermione, too. She would be devastated if he kept something as important as this from her at all, let alone if he only shared it with Ron. "But," he continued, feeling disproportionately hot, "I guess it has something to do with the prophecy; the one from the Ministry."

Hermione's eyes searched his face anxiously. "But it smashed - nobody knows what it said, not that the _Prophet_ haven't tried to convince everyone they have inside information with their 'Chosen One' malarkey," she finished with a scoff.

"Well, actually," Harry murmured, looking intently at an ant as it explored the cover of Hermione's book, "the _Prophet_ have got it right." Hermione's grip on his arm became very tight and he forced himself to look at her frightened face. "Dumbledore was the one the prophecy was originally made to and he had a copy of it back in his office. I heard the whole thing. Basically, it means that I'm the one that's got to finish Voldemort off. It said that neither of us can live while the other survives…"

Harry suddenly found himself wrapped in a tight hug, Hermione's hair tickling his face. "Oh, Harry," she said in a trembling voice. "After what Lucius Malfoy said at the Ministry, about the prophecy being about you and Voldemort, I thought it might be something like this, but I didn't want to say anything…" She pulled back and Harry was uncomfortable to see her eyes looking a little watery but, thankfully, she didn't start crying. "Oh, Harry," she said again. "How…how are you feeling?"

Harry grimaced. "I'm alright, I suppose," he said modestly.

"Aren't you scared?" she asked disbelievingly.

"When I first heard it, I was," he admitted, "but I'm OK now. I guess I've always known it was going to come down to us two."

Hermione tried her best to look hopeful. "Well, I wonder what Professor Dumbledore is going to teach you. It's probably going to be some really advanced defence magic. He already knows how good you are after you taught us all in the DA. He obviously thinks you're ready for the next level things – tricky counter-curses, anti-jinxes and the like." Her expression brightened a little. "You _will_ tell me what he teaches you, won't you?"

"I – " Harry had hardly been listening, caught up as he was in the indescribable feeling of warmth that spread across his chest when Hermione hadn't tried to distance herself at the news of the prophecy; that she was there, offering him comfort even though she had already suffered because of him and her continued association with him would only put her in greater danger. He wished he could tell her how much her support meant to him. "Of course I'll pass on any spells he teaches me, Hermione."

She beamed at him and he laughed, his chest feeling lighter than it had done for a very long time, and he squeezed her arms lightly. Her expression changed at once and she snatched her arms out of his gentle grasp. Seeing Harry's look of alarm, she tried to return her features back to their previous casualness. "Hermione?" he questioned cautiously but she didn't respond. "I didn't make you burn, did I? My skin wasn't touching yours."

Hermione sighed and Harry noticed a note of tension in her posture. "No, I didn't burn, Harry. It's nothing."

"It didn't look like nothing," Harry responded, frowning. Making the most of his seeker-reflexes, Harry reached for her closest hand and quickly pushed the long sleeve of her t-shirt up to her elbow, ignoring her startled squawk. His eyes narrowed at once on the small purple bruises that showed up starkly on her lightly tanned skin and a feeling of cold unease swept through him. He raised his gaze to hers. "Where did you get these?" he asked quietly as she shrugged off his hold and pulled her sleeve back down.

Hermione bit her lip, looking like she was considering what to say in response. Eventually, she sighed and muttered, "Dolohov."

Harry felt sick to his stomach and he clenched his fists in response to the fury that swept through him. "Why didn't you tell me he's been hurting you?"

Hermione let out a loud sigh. "He's only been physical once, Harry, and I doubt he realised what he was doing."

"You're defending him?!" Harry said in disbelief.

"No, of course not!" she retorted. "I just don't want you to worry about something that's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal!" Harry repeated incredulously. "Wait – you _have_ told somebody else about this, haven't you?" Her lack of response told him her answer. "Hermione!" he scolded.

"What would be the point, Harry?" she questioned, throwing up her hands in frustration. "I'm not going to go running off to the Order just because Dolohov overreacted when I said 'Voldemort'."

Harry shook his head, guilt sweeping through him again. "I seem to remember you urging _me_ to report Umbridge for her blood quills."

"That's different," she replied. "Umbridge was in a position of responsibility and should have been looking out for the welfare of her pupils. We always knew that Dolohov was going to be…" she struggled to find the word and finally settled on, " _Dolohov._ "

Harry couldn't keep a look of dismay off his face. "What else has he done? Don't deny it, Hermione," he added quickly, seeing her avoid his eye. "You might have pretended that everything was alright in your letters but you forget that I _saw_ him; I was there when he refused to help a dying girl unless he could get something for himself in return. Don't try to hide from me how bad it is, Hermione, _please_." He always trusted that he could tell Hermione _anything_ and she would stand by him – as she had done just a few minutes ago. The possibility that she didn't feel that she could reciprocate made a coldness sweep down his spine. His heart thudded in his chest for every second that she remained silent.

Finally, after a long pause, she said, "It's nothing I can't handle, Harry, I promise; he calls me names and tries his best to be intimidating, that's all."

Harry was unconvinced by her response but instead asked, "Why doesn't Kingsley stop him?"

"Kingsley doesn't accompany me, Tonks does," she replied. "But Dolohov has refused to touch me if she doesn't leave the room first."

" _What?_ " Harry yelped, jumping to his feet. "She abandons you to a Death Eater?! Well, this makes much more sense now," he ranted, motioning to her covered up arm. "What is Tonks _thinking?_ "

"It's a power play, Harry," she replied calmly, also getting to her feet. "Dolohov is just seeing how far he can push us."

"You shouldn't be left alone with him – it's dangerous!"

"Not really – "

" _Hermione!_ " Harry interrupted angrily. "He's _hurt_ you!"

"It's nothing I can't handle, Harry," she insisted, putting her hands on her hips. "If we can't find a counter to this curse, I'll have to visit Dolohov for the rest of my life. If I don't stand my ground now, the disparaging insults and bullying won't stop; he'll never respect me."

"Respect you!" Harry scoffed. "Hermione, he wants to _kill_ you!" he argued passionately.

"Well, he won't while he's got something to gain from me being alive," she pointed out, not denying it. "Apart from the relief his touch gives me from the curse, my visits are a _far cry_ from enjoyable but they are _my_ battle, no one else's. That's why none of the adults know and I _don't_ plan on telling them."

Harry stared at her. He'd tried not to think too much about what Hermione went through whenever she had to visit Dolohov because his guilt made him feel sick. He knew it was selfish, of course, but with his best friend standing stiffly in front of him, her eyes glistening but her chin lifted defiantly, he put himself in her shoes and envisioned what it must be like for her on her visits to the dreaded Azkaban prison: to put herself before the very man who had tried to kill her, a Death Eater who hated her just because her parents were muggles, how she was forced to let him _touch_ her as he insulted and intimidated her so that she wouldn't fall prey to a dark curse…

Harry pulled her into his arms. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he murmured, "I'm _so_ sorry this has happened to you."

She embraced him back. "It's OK, Harry," she replied softly and Harry wasn't sure whether he was comforting her, or it was the other way around.

"No, it's not OK," he denied.

He felt her chest rise and fall as she let out a large sigh. "Maybe," she agreed reluctantly. "But I'm not going to let it stop me."

Harry laughed and broke their hug. "Merlin forbid! I don't know _anything_ that could stop you, Hermione."

She grinned and wiped at her eyes that were still a little watery. She opened her mouth to respond but then something in the sky caught her attention. Harry turned and saw three owls soaring towards the Burrow. "I wonder who they're for," she murmured and, with a jolt, Harry realised he knew the answer.

"They're our O.W.L results," he told her, prompting an ear-splitting screech from Hermione.

" _What?!_ "

"Dumbledore told me we'd be getting them today," he explained as Hermione held her hands to her face in terrified anticipation.

" _Merlin_ , why didn't you say so _earlier_?" she cried, grabbing his hand and her book and pulling him towards the Burrow. "Oh no, I've failed _everything_ , I just know it!"

Harry was unable to stop himself from grinning at the instant return of the Hermione he knew so well.

Unsurprisingly, Hermione _hadn't_ failed everything. In fact, she managed to earn ten 'Outstanding' O.W.L's and a single 'Exceeds Expectations', while Harry and Ron had achieved seven O.W.L's each and were very happy with their results.

After weeks of isolation, grief and introspection at Privet Drive, it felt brilliant to spend the day celebrating with his friends. They spent most of their time back in the orchard, practising their quidditch moves, and even managed to persuade Hermione to get on a broom so they could play a little game of two-on-two. Mrs Weasley brought out some homemade lemonade in the afternoon and they lay in the shade, giggling as Ginny did some very accurate impressions of Fleur.

The next few days passed in a very similar fashion and, if it weren't for the regular troubling reports in the _Prophet_ or the chilling feeling he'd get whenever the subject of Sirius was brought up, Harry was almost able to put his worries aside. He confided in Ron about the prophecy back on his first day and he was relieved when Ron, too, stood firmly by his side just as Hermione had done.

Harry couldn't help but keep a conscious note of where Hermione was at most times. He wasn't sure whether she was aware of him keeping tabs but it didn't take Ron long to notice.

"She's fine, mate," Ron reassured him a couple of days after Harry's arrival. They were mid quidditch practice when Harry had noticed that Hermione suddenly wasn't studying Russian underneath her usual tree anymore. He'd looked around anxiously, not paying attention to the quaffle, which is why it smacked him in the face when Ron lobbed it in his direction.

"Yeah, I know," Harry muttered, his voice slightly distorted by the tissues he'd stuffed up his nose to stem the small amount of blood that had been the product of his encounter with the ball.

"If the next time goes like the ones before, her skin will start to burn in about a week's time and then Tonks'll take her to Azkaban," Ron explained lowly. Harry glanced over at Hermione, who was sat, sipping at the drink she'd retrieved from the Burrow, which explained the absence that had sparked Harry's concern. He knew that Ron and the others had been through Hermione's burning cycle a couple of times and therefore understood it better than him, but Harry just couldn't shake the image of a convulsing and unresponsive Hermione from his mind – nor the sight of her flaming purple eyes – and his thoughts then strayed to what would have happened to her if Harry hadn't noticed that she was missing on the Marauders' Map. Would she have stepped off the edge of the Astronomy Tower? Would the curse have burned her up? He couldn't bear the idea of something happening to Hermione as a result of the curse and so he continued to check up on her, much to Ron's bemusement.

He was still troubled by her insistence that she not inform any of the Order members about the unpleasantness of her encounters with Dolohov, but he _could_ understand it; he'd certainly fought his own share of battles. But, of course, he'd had Hermione and Ron there by his side most of the time and, even when they weren't physically there, he was emboldened by their support, regardless. He just hoped Hermione felt the same way.

"Yes, Harry, I know that I can rely on you," Hermione told him, her face a mixture of exasperation, amusement and appreciation. "I haven't forgotten since you told me yesterday."

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a little sheepish. He wasn't used to being the 'concerned' friend in their relationship and he was struggling to find the right tone to reassure her without being overbearing. Apparently, he was still a little wide of the mark.

"Right," he murmured. "Sorry. Let's get started."

Hermione nodded in agreement and Harry hooked the headphones over his ears before giving her a thumbs up.

" _Mozhno mne stakan vody_?" Hermione said a little uncertainly and Harry pressed the play button on the cassette player to hear the phrase repeated with the correct pronunciation in his ears before pausing it again.

"I think that was right," he muttered, rewinding the tape a fraction. "Say it again."

" _Mozhno mne stakan vody?"_ she repeated with a bit more confidence and Harry listened carefully to both voices.

"Well, _I_ think you're saying it right but I'm hardly an expert, am I?" he told her.

Hermione shrugged. "I just need a second opinion to make sure it sounds alright. When Ron tried to help me, he was so shocked at hearing the voices in his head that he nearly snapped the cassette player in half."

Harry laughed. " _Purebloods_ ," he sighed dramatically with a little shake of his head and Hermione smiled. "So, what did you just say?"

"I asked for a glass of water," she replied and Harry felt his eyebrows rise in polite confusion. "I know, I know," she said, holding a hand up to forestall his response, "that phrase isn't likely to be of much use in helping me understand Dolohov's notes but I've got to start somewhere and it does help with pronunciation and sentence structure."

Harry glanced over at some of her notes and recalled what she'd said about the difficulties of the Russian alphabet – how some of the letters made a completely different sound to their English counterparts – and his admiration for her determination and intelligence grew to even higher heights. "Well, asking for water might not be important but every true Brit knows that all of life's problems can be solved with a cup of tea. Do you know that one?"

" _Mozhno mne chashku chaya_ ," Hermione declared after a brief moment's thought.

Harry laughed and then shrugged. "I'll take your word for it."

As the days ticked by, Harry became even more conscious of Hermione's movements, anticipating her announcement that it was time for her to visit Dolohov. He often had to prevent himself from asking her how she feeling and he could now empathise with her over the times _she_ had annoyed _him_ from frequent questions about his welfare over the years.

Perhaps it was because Harry was a lot more attuned to Hermione's behaviour than anyone else that he was the first to waken when he heard the hurried footsteps on the stairs in the early hours of his fifth morning at the Burrow.

It could have been nothing. There were plenty of people currently staying at the Burrow and there might be a number of reasons for someone moving on the stairs at this time of night, but Harry's gut instinct told him that something was wrong.

He grabbed his glasses and his wand and hurried out of bed. It was very dark in the stairway, but faint slithers of moonlight allowed him to see where he was going as he automatically moved to the bedroom below his. He hesitated only a moment at the potential embarrassment he might experience if this turned out to be a false alarm, and then pushed the girls' bedroom door open. The moonlight was much stronger here as it lay across Hermione and Ginny's beds, showing quite blatantly that one of them, just as Harry had feared, was empty.

His gasp of despair woke Ginny but Harry was already backing out of the room again. "Hermione's gone! Wake everyone," he instructed urgently over his shoulder as he descended the final flight of stairs to the ground floor. He'd felt a strong breeze buffeting up through the stairway and he saw that the kitchen door had been thrown wide open. Heart in his mouth, Harry dashed outside just in time to see something whizz past him at high speed. It took him a moment to comprehend that he'd just seen Hermione fly past him on a broom.

"Hermione!" Harry yelled after her but it was no good. He sprinted towards the broom shed, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to keep her in sight for as long as possible. He swore when he saw that his Firebolt had gone. His was easily the fastest broom and it would be difficult to catch up with her if she chose to fly at top speed. Harry could hear shouts behind him but he grabbed the next best broom, Ron's, and took off in the direction Hermione had gone. As he flew over the Burrow, he shouted out a hurried explanation to the gathered Weasleys. Mr Weasley called for him to stop but he couldn't wait for them otherwise they might lose all chance of catching Hermione.

The odds weren't good but Harry was pinning his hopes on the fact that Hermione was a rather poor flyer, especially compared to him. Harry lay as flat on his broom as he could, urging the Cleansweep to go faster as he cast his eyes around for any sign of Hermione.

A cloud passed over the moon and Harry cursed again. He sat up slightly and slowed the broom, squinting around and the feeling of sick dread that he'd been able to sweep away in the rush of the chase was creeping through his body.

Harry pulled the broom upwards to go into a climb, hoping that he'd be able to see further if the moon reappeared. He had to wait for an agonising minute but the clouds parted and the ground was tinged with a silvery light. Harry twisted and turned desperately, searching for the smallest movement. "Please," he muttered under his breath, "please, _please_."

There.

The streetlights of a small town were momentarily disrupted by a tiny black dot and Harry shot off after it.

Within a couple of minutes, Harry was able to distinguish the figure and he concentrated exclusively on reeling it in – apart from occasionally shooting red sparks behind him in the hopes that one of the Weasleys would spot them.

Yard by agonising yard, Harry closed the distance thanks to his superior flying skills and eventually a blessed relief swept through him when he recognised the brown curls being buffeted by the wind. Harry knew they were going much faster than Hermione had ever flown before and he was worried that she'd fall off her broom or lose control if he called out to her, so he just maintained his speed to narrow the gap.

As he got closer, he could see that she, like him, was still wearing her night clothes and she was barefooted, too. Harry would be worried that she was half-frozen in her little cotton shorts and t-shirt but he suspected that the curse was burning her unbearably. What else would explain her sudden getaway? This theory was confirmed when he was finally able to pull alongside her and see the purple flames in her eyes. Hermione didn't seem to be aware that he was there; her fiery gaze was fixed straight ahead, the rest of her expression utterly vacant. It was just as he'd feared. And, what was worse was the possibility that she might start having seizures just like the last time she'd entered this unresponsive state and, from this height, she would surely fall to her death.

A number of suggestions flashed through Harry's mind at how to bring her safely to the ground. He had to disregard his idea of performing a sticking charm to keep her attached to the broom because he knew that the Firebolt had a considerable number of anti-jinx spells to prevent magical interference during quidditch matches.

He chose to focus on simply slowing her down for the moment and, recalling a similar move by Draco Malfoy in Hogwarts' Quidditch Cup final a few years ago, Harry reached over to grab the rear end of Hermione's broom whilst simultaneously slowing down the Cleansweep with just the pressure from his knees. In his free hand, he held his wand aloft, ready to cast any sort of spell that would stop Hermione from falling should it be necessary. He could feel the Firebolt straining under his fingers and the lack of change in Hermione's posture told him she was oblivious to the altered speed.

Harry put his wand-holding hand to the handle of his broom for just a moment to encourage it to start a gentle descent, which the Firebolt was forced to match as Harry clung on to the sleek bristles of his beloved broom. He let loose a few red sparks above their heads after realising that he hadn't updated anyone of their movements for a couple of minutes but the resulting movement fractionally dislodged his grip from the Firebolt. Instinctively, Harry leapt up after it, leaving the Cleansweep hovering below him as he and Hermione shot off into the sky. Trying not to panic, Harry put his wand between his teeth and clung onto the broom for dear life. With the combined effect of Harry's extra weight and Hermione's relenting pace, the broom's movements caused Harry's body to sway alarmingly. He was running out of time but there was only one way he could think of to bring the broom down. Careful to avoid touching Hermione, he jerkily moved his hands along the length of the broom until he was dangling from the top of the handle. He could already feel that his body weight was forcing the handle downwards and he heaved at it, trying to force it into a steeper dive. His arms ached with the strain and his fingers grew slippery on the polished wood but he forced himself to hold on.

Something whipped across his legs, and Harry had to resist the urge to let out a surprised and pained yell because otherwise his wand would fall from his mouth. The same sensation happened again and then repeated continuously, travelling up his body, and Harry realised they were descending through some trees. There was a strangled yelp from Hermione, and Harry dropped to the floor like a stone, still clinging onto the Firebolt. Realising that Hermione had been unseated, he wrenched the broom around so that he could sit on it precariously, removed the wand from his mouth and lit it. He'd come just a couple of feet from a nasty impact with the woodland floor but he was more concerned about what had happened to Hermione.

The wandlight threw up grotesque shadows of the trees surrounding him and he manoeuvred the broom with some difficulty between them as he searched for his best friend.

" _Hermione!_ " he yelled.

The sound of branches snapping made him turn to his left, wand held aloft, and he saw her limping through the undergrowth. " _Incarcerous_!" he cried, conjuring ropes that tightly bound Hermione's arms and legs together so she couldn't get away. As he flew over to her, Harry saw that Hermione was struggling and thrashing for the first time that evening, probably because her journey was being impeded. Harry landed breathlessly next to her and shot the brightest sparks as high as he could.

"It's OK," Harry said to her, "we're going to help you, Hermione." He wanted to put his hand on her arm to try and calm her but he knew it would only hurt her and he had absolutely no desire to hear her terrible screams.

As the minutes ticked past and Harry's frequent sparks remained unanswered, he began to get worried that they'd flown out of help's reach. He glanced down at Hermione, something he'd mostly avoided because the sight upset him so much, and shivered at the purple flames that danced in front of her eyes. He could also see that the ropes were digging into her skin because of her ceaseless struggles, leaving the flesh red and raw. His frequent reassuring words weren't acknowledged by her but he hadn't expected them to be.

At a loss as to what else to do, Harry was about to perform the Patronus Charm in the hopes that he could figure out how to send a message through it when he heard a voice calling his name.

"I'm here!" Harry called eagerly, creating more sparks. "We're here, hurry!"

Bill swatted branches out of his way as he landed next to them, looking very relieved. "Thank Merlin," he muttered. A patronus burst from his wand as soon as he dismounted from his broom. "Are you alright, Harry?" he asked, looking down at Hermione with a very grave expression on his face.

"I'm fine," Harry said quickly. "Bill, we need to get her to Azkaban straight away. Do you know where it is? Can you apparate with her?"

Bill shook his head. "I need to get you back to the Burrow first, Harry; it's not safe out here."

Harry staggered away from him in shock. "What? The curse is completely taking over her body, Bill. She needs to get to Dolohov before it's too late!"

The grim look on Bill's face didn't change. "I promise that help is on its way, Harry. Hermione's not going anywhere and the sooner you let me take you back, the quicker I can come back to assist her."

"We can't leave her here!" Harry said, appalled that Bill would even _consider_ such a thing.

"Well, I can't leave you either," Bill countered, beginning to look frustrated.

"Of course you can!" Harry insisted. "You said yourself that help's on its way and I've got my wand and my Firebolt. I can look after myself. _Please,_ Bill. We don't know enough about this curse – she could be minutes from death!"

Bill glanced down at the thrashing Hermione. "Alright," he murmured. He shot a few more Patronus messages out of his wand and then pointed it at a fallen branch, transfiguring it into a large blanket. He draped this over Hermione's oblivious, struggling form and hefted her into his arms.

There was the familiar pop of disapparation but, seeing that Bill and Hermione were still there, Harry realised that someone else had found them. Mr Weasley rushed towards the light of Harry's wand.

"Thank Merlin," he muttered, echoing his son's earlier words, and he held Harry's shoulder in a tight grip at once. "You're alright to take her?" he asked of Bill.

"Yeah, it's fine, Dad," Bill replied, doing his best to contain Hermione's writhing. "I'll send you another message soon. You'll inform the others for me?"

"Of course," Mr Weasley replied.

"Look after her," Harry requested, staring helplessly at his best friend.

"I will, Harry, I promise." Bill gave them both a quick nod and then disappeared with a faint pop.

* * *

A/N OK, I know you guys will be disappointed with the lack of Antonin but we'll start off with him at the start of the next chapter, I promise. I enjoyed writing about Harry and Hermione's friendship in this chapter. As much as I love Harry, I do feel like Hermione's a much better friend to Harry than he is to her so it was nice to write him being the openly supportive one for a change.

Anyway, don't forget to review!

Red


	7. Chapter 7

A/N Sorry for the wait guys! I had a big load of work that I had to get out of the way before I could start thinking about updating my stories again but that's done now so hopefully you won't have to wait so long for the update after this one.

Thank you for all those supporting this fic!

I promised you Antonin last time so here he is...

* * *

For a few moments, Antonin was convinced he was experiencing a twisted dream – a pretty common occurrence for him. The face of the man who had burst into his room was shrouded in shadow but the strong features were reminiscent of ones that lurked in the recesses of Antonin's mind. He felt a jolt of alarm at the prospect of what the spectre wanted with him, what vengeance it sought, and the sight of the twisted, whimpering Granger in the figure's arms unsettled him further. Was she the vessel through which retribution was to be achieved? Was she the harbinger of his doom, just like the true _zhar-ptitsa_ from the stories?

"The curse is burning her up," the young man said as he strode into the room. His announcement, combined with the sudden lighting of the torches, shattered the sleep-haze in Antonin's mind and he realised that this was all very real; the presence of the anxious Tonks standing in the doorway, wand drawn, confirming this further.

Antonin glanced up at the man carrying Granger over to him. The improved lighting only slightly diminished the man's resemblance to Antonin's past foes and he strove to hide that he had been disconcerted by his abrupt arrival.

Antonin climbed quickly out of his bed and, before he could protest, his place on the threadbare sheets was immediately taken by Granger as she was clumsily placed there by the red-haired man. He saw that her eyes were once more alight with purple fire and her appearance flushed. A number of scratches were visible across her bare arms and legs and there was even one on her cheek that was deep enough to have drawn blood. There were also welts in her skin where she was being restrained by ropes and, most curiously of all, a number of twigs were caught up in her unruly curls.

Antonin turned a withering expression on the auror and what was almost certainly a Weasley boy. "I see you're doing a quite _admirable_ job of looking after her," he sneered at them, ignoring the whimpers of the mudblood. "Most commendable care the Order provides."

The auror opened her mouth, most likely to return with some sort of insult, but the sound of Antonin's voice had had a profound effect on Granger. Her body seemed to be working on some sort of survival instinct and, recognising the source of her cure, she automatically threw herself in his direction. Looking in the wrong direction and not expecting such an erratic and frantic move, Antonin wasn't able to ready himself, and the two of them tumbled to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

" _Fuck!_ " Antonin grunted in Russian as Granger's flailing bony limbs struck various parts of his body. " _Calm down!_ " He grappled with her for a moment until his hands closed around her bound arms. She became subdued at once, practically melting against him, and he let out a short breath of relief that she was under control. He was lying on his back with Granger's lower body lying flush against his own, her shoulders and head were forced away from his purely thanks to the grip he had on her arms. It was a distinctly uncomfortable position and her wild curls were obscuring his vision, leaving him feeling vulnerable. The purple flames in her eyes had calmed, like he'd expected them to, but they flared up again when he pushed her aside so that he could manoeuver his body into a position that was more bearable. He only had time to sit up before Granger stuck herself to his side again, her body finding relief as her head nestled below his chin, her cheek pressed against the bare skin at the top of his chest that was revealed by the neckline of the ragged night clothes that the Ministry had been _kind_ enough to issue him.

He glared over at the two Order members. They were watching the encounter with almost comically shocked expressions on their faces at the sight of the little witch trying to bury herself into a Death Eater. "This will be a lot easier if you get rid of the ropes," he snarled at them, trying to portray that he was now in complete control of the situation.

Weasley glanced at Tonks and she nodded mutely. He muttered a counter curse and the ropes vanished instantly. With her limbs now free to move, Granger tucked her bare feet up so that they were meeting the skin of his exposed legs. One of her hands sought out his own and slid itself as far up his sleeve as it could go while the other curled around his neck and disappeared into the back of his head.

She was certainly doing a very good impersonation of a limpet and Antonin suspected he wasn't quite carrying off the air of haughty disdain that he was aiming for. Damned mudblood. He just wished he had some way of letting the self-righteous chit see exactly what lengths her body would go to when the curse took over. That would certainly knock the jumped-up brat down a place or two!

With Granger wrapped around him so tightly, he was able to stand easily and he carried her over to the armchair, sinking into it languidly as he glared at his 'guests'. "Are you just going to watch?" he sneered. "They have a name for people who get off on that."

Weasley's jaw tightened angrily. "We're not leaving you alone with her."

Antonin let out a dark chuckle. The boy was as easy to wind up as the auror. "You think I'm going to have my way with her if you go?" he questioned deviously, smirk firmly in place as he slowly dragged the tips of his fingers up the length of Granger's exposed leg. He didn't even get as far as her knee before Weasley advanced on him, wand raised.

"She's _sixteen_ and not even properly conscious, you _sick_ _bastard_ ," Weasley snarled, jamming his wand into Antonin's cheek.

The auror appeared at his side and put a restraining hand on his arm. " _Bill_ ," she said warningly. Weasley glanced at her and then lowered his wand with a scowl.

Antonin smirked at them. "Thank you, _Nymphadora_." Her gaze narrowed and shoulders tightened, definitely aware that he was attempting to unsettle her, but she clamped down any other hint that it was working. "But the little mudblood is in no danger from me – as if I would stoop to such levels by degrading myself with such a filthy specimen!" They both looked at him furiously but his smirk widened. "Not that she wouldn't let me if I was so inclined. Even when she's fully awake, the effect of my touch has her begging and panting like the best Knockturn Alley _whore_." Much to his delight, Granger unknowingly chose that exact moment to let out a sigh of contentment and Antonin leered at the Order members, heartily enjoying their discomfort.

Weasley turned away from him with a look of utmost loathing and the auror turned after him. "Just ignore him, Bill; he's lying," Antonin heard her say lowly. "He likes to play games and manipulate because that's all he can do while he's shut up in here."

Antonin's lips twitched in amusement at her words. It suited him to have her believe that there was no truth to the words he'd spoken, for he knew that he wouldn't be allowed to see the mudblood alone if the Order suspected that he was taking some sort of sexual advantage of the girl. But he _had_ been more accurate with his description of Granger's reaction to him than Weasley and the auror would be comfortable with. Antonin knew just how potent the effect of his touch was on Granger because it was written over every inch of her body when they came into contact; the dilation of her pupils, the quickness of her breath, the thrumming of her heartbeat and the complete surrender of her body to his ministrations.

For someone who had been subjected to over a decade of imprisonment in a living hell, someone who'd never had a say in his own life from the moment he was born, for him to have that much control over someone else was incredibly empowering – even more so considering the particular young woman involved. She might be a petite little thing but there was much more to Hermione Granger than met the eye. He had heard about some of it in his brief escape from Azkaban: her impressive school grades, her blood status, her Gryffindor recklessness and unswerving loyalty to Potter. He'd seen for himself the fight she'd shown at the Department of Mysteries where she'd nearly outwitted him. She was such a creature of the light that it practically shone from her when she'd first stepped before his cell; one of Dumbledore's baby Phoenixes, for sure. But she had fight in her too, that had been evident from the start. Each aspect of what made her who she was, a paragon of everything the light stood for, combined to make his hold over her even more satisfying.

It would only be a matter of time before he broke her spirit; had her utterly dependant on his touch, dancing to his tune and eating out of his hand like a good little _zhar-ptitsa_.

True, their previous encounter hadn't exactly gone to plan. He'd let his temper get the better of him and he'd been unable to stop himself from having to resort to aggressive means in order to enforce his superiority over the mudblood after she'd slapped him: _him_ , a descendant of the prestigious Dolohov bloodline. He'd needed to put her in her place at once; his soft approach temporarily thrown aside in the light of her actions. It infuriated him that little upstart filth like her were still free to be part of the magical world while he and other purebloods, the rightful inheritors of magic, were condemned to imprisonment and left to rot out of sight. That wasn't how it was meant to be and the Dark Lord would soon put the world to rights – Antonin was counting on it. Physically hurting Granger would ensure some sort of retribution from the Order and Antonin preferred to keep the battle between the two of them, so he'd attacked her sense of self, her light and morality, instead. _Fucking whore._ If she wasn't so damned self-righteous, the blow wouldn't have stung her so deeply but he was also aware, as was Granger, that there was more to it than just the word. Saying it would be giving in to him, once again. Her body already did so whether she wanted it to or not, and she'd shown willingness to give him information for his touch, but she wasn't quite ready to degrade herself for him yet. The stubborn chit would come around.

Or would she?

He glanced down at the young woman nestled in his lap, speculating.

He hadn't anticipated her or the Order allowing the curse to develop so far before paying another visit. Of course, they were still in the early stages of getting to grips with the curse's effects and there was every chance that it was unpredictable in nature, but he wondered whether there had been something else at play.

Antonin looked over at Weasley and Tonks, who were still watching him distastefully. "How did she come to be in this state again? Why wasn't she brought here sooner?"

Tonks looked mildly surprised. "You sound concerned."

"Of course I am," he confirmed, shocking them both further. "Without her, I lose this cell."

Weasley scoffed with contempt and muttered, "Prick."

There were a few moments of silence and then Antonin said, "Are you not going to answer my question? It wouldn't shock me to discover that it was purely incompetence from your side, but if the curse has erratic side effects then it would benefit my research to know."

"And how _is_ your research faring?" Weasley asked, an eyebrow arching upwards to match his sarcastic tone. "Making good progress, are you?"

"Oh, yes, _excellent_ progress," he replied, equally as scathing. "Not that I'd expect you to understand the intricate art of spell creation."

Weasley crossed his arms over his chest and his posture became more resolute. "I'm a curse breaker, actually."

"Am I supposed to be impressed just because you know a few counter jinxes?" Antonin sneered. "Any fool can take a hammer to an intricate work of art; you're nothing impressive."

"What, and you are, are you?" Weasley retorted, making a show of looking Antonin up and down. "Yes, mighty indeed! You've certainly achieved much in the last dozen or so years, and such glorious accommodation you live in! You're the envy of the wizarding world, Dolohov."

Antonin narrowed his eyes at him. "You know," he said softly, as though just making a realisation, "there is something _very_ familiar about your features, boy. I feel as though I've come across them before, many years ago." Weasley stiffened at once and Antonin knew that he had him. "Are you related to the Prewetts by any chance?" Antonin knew the answer, of course, and had done almost as soon as seeing Weasley walk into the room.

"Yes," Weasley answered shortly. "You murdered my uncles when I was ten years old."

"And you'd do well to remember what I'm capable of, boy," Antonin snarled. "Now, tell me how you messed up with Granger."

Weasley glared at him and Antonin gazed back challengingly. They locked into a silent battle of wills, neither prepared to break the contact. Antonin's eyes were prickling with the need to blink but he refused to give way to the blood traitor. After a few more seconds, the victory was his when Weasley cast his eyes down to the floor with a sigh. "We didn't. There was no indication that this would happen."

"You rely on her to tell you when she feels the burn?" he questioned.

"Yes," the auror replied, frowning. "Last time, Hermione informed us the minute her skin started to prickle when in contact with other people's, and updated us regularly until it was severe enough to warrant a visit to you. She said nothing this time."

"How long did it take her skin to begin to burn after the preceding visit here?" he asked.

Tonks and Weasley glanced at each other thoughtfully. "About a week," she replied and Weasley nodded. "But it hasn't even been a week this time since we were last here," she pointed out.

"No, it hasn't," Antonin agreed thoughtfully. "And there were no other indications that the curse was working faster?"

"Like what?" the auror questioned.

Antonin lifted his hand from where it was resting on Granger's calf and indicated her revealing garments. "Did tonight's temperature require such attire? She says her body temperature rises when she is in need of my touch."

The Order members exchanged another look and there was definitely concern evident on each face. "I wasn't really paying attention at the time," Weasley muttered but it was loud enough for Antonin to hear. "I don't make a habit of looking at what she's wearing but… I think she _was_ wearing something to keep her cool and it really wasn't hot tonight…"

"She could feel it coming," Tonks concluded gravely, glancing over at the witch in question. "But why didn't she tell us when she's been so open before?"

That _was_ an interesting question and Antonin wondered if his first suspicions were correct. Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face because the auror had switched her pensive gaze over to him.

"What happened during her last visit?" she asked.

"That's between me and the mudblood," he sneered.

The auror scowled at him. "Something happened that made her walk out before she'd got a proper amount of relief from you, didn't it? That's why she's had to come back so soon after last time."

Antonin strongly suspected that the auror's theory was accurate but he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of telling her that.

"You really think Hermione would leave without getting the cure from him?" Weasley asked the auror.

Tonks looked at him flatly. "You see what he's like," she answered, jerking her head at Antonin.

"Poor kid," Weasley muttered, looking sympathetically at the witch in Antonin's lap. "You really are a piece of work, Dolohov."

 _Monster:_ intimidating a girl so thoroughly that she would rather slip under the effects of a dark curse than face him! He knew that's what Weasley and the auror suspected but Antonin knew that wasn't quite accurate.

He _tried_ to intimidate Granger and he knew that he did, to a certain extent, but she wasn't scared of him – certainly not enough to avoid coming to see him through fear. No, if she was avoiding him it was because she was being _stubborn_ and unwilling to lose face in front of him. He'd told her that the next time she came to him he would make her _beg_ him for his touch on her hands and knees. He'd seen the look of inevitable defeat in her eyes and, if he was reading his obstinate _zhar-ptitsa_ correctly, she'd put off telling the Order about the burning because she couldn't bear the idea of him being victorious in their battle. He doubted she'd intended for it to go quite this far but she'd obviously underestimated how quickly the curse would consume her after receiving an inadequate amount of contact from him a few days ago.

Antonin glanced down at her, smirking.

He really had gotten under her skin, hadn't he?

* * *

"Ah, Miss Granger, how good to see you're awake," a familiar voice said. Hermione had been blinking away the sleep from her eyes, taking in the familiar sights of Ginny's bedroom when she was startled from her drowsy thoughts by the sound of her Headmaster. She turned to her right sharply and her eyes confirmed what her ears had perceived: Professor Dumbledore was sat next to her bed.

The implication resonated with her immediately. "The curse pulled me under again, didn't it?"

"I'm afraid so, Hermione," he said gently, but a stone felt like it had been dropped into her stomach. "But, as you can see, you were taken to Azkaban in time and you seem to have recovered from your relapse."

She tried to keep herself calm as she asked, "What happened, sir?"

"In the early hours of this morning, the curse took hold of your body and some sort of instinct seems to have taken over your thought processes," Dumbledore explained and she listened, wide-eyed and fearful. "You left the Burrow, took one of the brooms from the shed and began flying in a north-easterly direction."

Hermione gasped and momentarily covered her mouth with her hands. "Sir," she said shakily, "I-I don't understand."

"We don't know for sure, of course, but I think we can safely speculate that your body, knowing what it needed to fight the effects of the curse, decided to seek it out."

"Are you saying I tried to _fly_ to Azkaban?" Hermione asked, thunderstruck.

"That is what I believe, yes," Dumbledore replied. "Though you wouldn't have been successful even if you hadn't been intercepted; the prison is on an unplottable island. One cannot simply fly to it, I'm afraid. However, I'm sure you'll agree that that is mostly a good thing."

Hermione was still struggling to comprehend what he was telling her. She glanced down at herself, feeling oddly disconnected to her own body. How could she have run away from the Burrow, attempted to fly to Azkaban, and have some sort of encounter with Dolohov without _any_ recollection of the events? "How did you stop me?" she asked in a small voice.

"Mr Potter heard you leaving the Burrow and gave chase on one of the other brooms," Dumbledore explained, much to Hermione's horror. "He was able to bring you both safely to ground just north of the village of Buckley St Mary, some thirty miles away from here. He signalled the Order, and Bill was able to get you to Azkaban before any harm was done."

She simply gaped at him for a few moments, struggling to form a response. " _Harry_ chased me and, and performed magic because of me?" she asked, her voice coming out in a squeak.

Dumbledore held up a reassuring hand in the sight of her fear. "Mr Potter is perfectly well and faces no charges for performing magic underage."

"He shouldn't have done that!" Hermione cried. "It was so dangerous for him to be out there on his own." Her brain threw up terrible images of what could have happened to him if he'd been discovered by Voldemort's forces and it would have been all her fault! "I'm so sorry, Professor!"

Dumbledore smiled at her comfortingly. "My dear girl, you do not think yourself responsible for Harry's actions, do you? It was, I agree, a reckless decision on his part, especially in these troubling times, but his actions were indicative of the strength of the friendship between you. His only thoughts were of your safety – much like yours were only of _his_ a few moments ago." He smiled at her again. "Instead of dwelling on what _could_ have happened, we must be thankful that all has turned out well. The friendship between yourself, Mr Potter and Mr Weasley is something to be treasured, Hermione. The devotion you show each other is quite inspirational."

Hermione didn't know how to respond to that and she realised, after a moment, that she was just staring at the Headmaster. She looked away quickly, cheeks flushed, and started fiddling with a loose thread on her duvet cover. "I'm sorry to have caused so much trouble, sir; I- I know how busy you and the other adults are." She felt a sickening shame creep into her stomach that the man who was leading the fight against Voldemort had been interrupted from something highly important, no doubt, to pay her a bedside visit.

Dumbledore didn't say anything at first and she glanced up, despite herself, to find him watching her closely. Eventually, he sighed and said, "We are still in the very early stages of trying to understand this curse. Magic, as you know, can be very unpredictable, Miss Granger. You could not have anticipated that you would deteriorate so quickly."

She cast her eyes down, her heart thundering in her chest. _He knew_. She struggled to contain her emotions as she tried to come to terms with the fact that she had fallen way short of the high standards she set for herself. A tear trickled down her cheek. "I should have told someone," she whispered quietly, wiping the tear away. "The symptoms started showing when I woke up yesterday," she admitted to her knee, unable to bear to look at Dumbledore. He stayed silent, no doubt waiting for her to continue, to explain _why_ she had been so foolish as to hide the burning from those who wanted to take care of her. What possible reason could she have for putting herself in such danger and setting off a chain of events that could have led to, not only the loss of her life, but that of her best friend, too? "But I wasn't ready to face him… it was too soon after the last one and I, I just needed a bit more time to prepare myself." The tears flowed freely now and she hid her face in her hands. "I'm so sorry for letting you down, sir."

"You have _not_ let me down, Hermione," he denied at once, his tone just shy of firm. "You judge yourself too harshly. For your very survival, you have been put into a position that most fully grown adults would find unbearable." A box of tissues materialised in front of her and she pulled a couple free, dabbing at her eyes and nose as Dumbledore continued to offer her reassurances that she wasn't convinced she deserved. "You must remember, my dear, that you are human; a blessed race, to be sure, but certainly not perfect. We all make mistakes and it is from them that we learn our most important lessons." He raised his previously concealed right hand and the sight of the blackened, withered flesh shocked her so much that she stopped crying. "And mistakes will continue to happen even when you get to be as ancient as I am."

"S-sir?" she questioned uncertainly, looking at him in concern.

"Nothing to worry about, Hermione," he reassured gently. "What's done is done – a mantra I suggest you adopt: your curse has been soothed, once more, and the events of the last few hours have told us all that we cannot afford to be complacent about its effects. Even if you _had_ informed one of the adults of the re-emergence of your symptoms, I believe I am correct when I say that the curse has never been so potent so quickly. Therefore it stands to reason that the residents here in The Burrow still would not have anticipated your night-time flight."

"No," Hermione agreed slowly, her voice still thick with emotion, "but I think, possibly, I should have foreseen _something_ like this: I… Dolohov and I… last time I visited I didn't get much relief from him, sir."

"I doubt Antonin has been particularly accommodating," Dumbledore said disapprovingly.

Hermione shrugged. "It's to be expected from a man like that." Then she stiffened her shoulders and looked at Dumbledore sharply. "But it's nothing I can't handle, sir; I won't let his words and actions interfere with decisions that could affect my health ever again, I promise."

Dumbledore surveyed her closely. "It is not acceptable for one of my students to receive abuse from a convicted criminal, Miss Granger."

"With respect, sir, I don't think you or I have much say in the matter. By his very nature, Dolohov is going to try and get everything he can out of this situation – if he's already serving a life sentence in Azkaban, he doesn't have much to lose, does he? I need his touch to keep the curse at bay and it seems very likely that the only way I'll be completely free of it is through his research. If we take his touch by force, I am certain he will refuse to investigate his curse purely out of spite. Putting up with this curse for the rest of my life…" she shuddered at such a horrifying prospect. "If I have to listen to him insult me to keep him on side and myself alive, then that's a price I'm willing to pay."

"And that's all he's doing?" Dumbledore asked, his expression serious. "Insulting you?" He saw the hesitation in her response and his demeanour became even more solemn. "Miss Granger," he pressed.

She shook her head. "It's nothing serious, he just grabbed me too hard when I used Voldemort's name. I don't think he would physically attack me with intent, he's not that stupid."

"And apart from that his touch is always appropriate?" Dumbledore asked and Hermione's cheeks flamed instantly.

She nodded, feeling more than a little embarrassed. "Only on my arms," she confirmed.

He continued to survey her through his half-moon glasses and Hermione hoped she stood up to scrutiny. "I understand your wish to fight your own battle," he said eventually. "It is an admirable endeavour for someone in your situation and I believe the respect you have earned over your years at Hogwarts entitles you to your request. However, I do ask you to keep Nymphadora informed should Antonin overstep the mark in _any_ way."

"Yes, sir," she agreed automatically and then quickly debated with herself over whether to tell him something else. In the end, her desire to get approval from authority figures won out and she said quickly, "Dolohov asks me to tell him of events in the outside world, the things he'd read in the paper and such. I wouldn't tell him anything to do with Harry or the Order, of course, but I, I did tell him about the new Minister…" She looked up at him, hoping that her fear of being reprimanded wasn't written all over her face.

"That is the price for his touch?" Dumbledore asked and she nodded. He didn't look surprised. "I would expect nothing less of Antonin: he always was a very inquisitive pupil. His thirst for knowledge was not far off your own, actually, and he achieved very impressive scores in his examinations. It's no wonder that Voldemort recruited him right out of school, though I imagine the boy had set his sights on such a path long before his graduation. Such a waste of talent," Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head, "but he was a Slytherin through and through; his ambition was ever the driving force behind his actions and it seems as though that part of him still prevails, pushing for more. Not satisfied with the return of his books and a new cell, he seeks to blackmail you too."

"Was I wrong to tell him about Scrimgeour, sir?" Hermione asked, her anxiousness about doing the wrong thing clear in her voice. "Should I refuse to tell him anything more?"

"I would not presume to insist on either option, Hermione: the choice is yours. After all, this is your battle. But I will, if you'll allow me, offer you some advice."

"Of course," she said eagerly.

"We cannot know what the future will bring in these dark times. As we have experienced in recent times, a life-sentence in Azkaban is no longer as final as it was once considered to be and, unfortunately, we cannot discount the possibility that Antonin will break free from the prison again. Should that happen, you can be sure that he will return to Voldemort's side. Anything you choose to tell Antonin has to be something you would be prepared to tell his master too. I know that you are aware that you have the backing of Hogwarts and the Order as you fight this curse and, as Harry showed, many are willing to go to great lengths to protect you, and so you need to be sure that the information you share with Antonin does not endanger those people in any way, that whenever you return from Azkaban, you can look them in the eye and feel no remorse. The coming months are going to be hard enough, Hermione, and you can't have that guilt eating away at you on top of everything else…"

* * *

Severus listened to Dumbledore's account of Miss Granger's close escape with an air of great indifference, though both men were aware that he was paying much closer attention than he let on.

"The recklessness of those children never ceases to amaze me," Severus said, disdain dripping from his voice. "It is a small miracle that Potter, Weasley and Granger have managed to survive this far." Dumbledore opened his mouth to respond but Severus cut across him. "Spare me your sentimental musings on the saving-power of friendship, Dumbledore: I seem to recall that Miss Granger got into this mess by following Potter to the Ministry in the first place. Why did you summon me? I presume you had some motive other than to give me an unwanted update on Potter's latest attempts to play the hero."

Dumbledore failed to look annoyed by his dismissive words, probably used to them from Severus where his least favourite pupil was concerned. "After speaking with Miss Granger this afternoon, I saw that there was more that could be done to assist her. Firstly, although she seems to be making good progress in her study of the Russian language, her ability to successfully ask for the location of the closest café is unlikely to help her interpret Antonin's notes on the curse."

"Indeed," Severus said dryly, though he doubted the headmaster expect him to be of any use in rectifying that situation.

Sure enough, Dumbledore continued, "Therefore I will endeavour to find a witch or wizard who can tutor in aspects of the language that she will find more useful."

"You'll let them see Dolohov's notes?" Severus questioned.

"It would be safer for all involved if that can be avoided," Dumbledore answered solemnly.

There was a pause in the conversation that forced Severus to ask, "And the second way you propose to assist Miss Granger?"

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said, breaking free from his thoughts. "You will teach her Occlumency."

Severus stared at him, hoping that this was one of the headmaster's deeply unamusing practical jokes. The seconds ticked past in silence and he was forced to conclude that it wasn't. "Why would you think that's a good idea, Dumbledore? After all, it worked so brilliantly last time, didn't it?" he added sardonically.

"Hermione isn't Harry, Severus. You cannot deny that she is a diligent pupil – she achieved ten Outstanding grades in her OWLs."

"Just because she is a know-it-all that doesn't mean she has what it requires to master Occlumency," Severus pointed out angrily.

"No," Dumbledore agreed lightly, "but I think she has a better chance than most, and I'm sure she will put more effort into her studies than Harry did."

Severus brushed this aside. "I still don't understand why you wish her to learn. I fail to see how this will help her fight Dolohov's blasted curse."

"It would seem that she finds the effect of Antonin's touch very diverting," he replied.

"She told you this herself, did she?" Severus posed.

"Not exactly, but it would tie in with what Kingsley, Nymphadora and Bill have observed in their interactions," Dumbledore explained. "It is my belief that the practice of clearing her mind prior to her visits will help her keep her focus."

"I don't envy Miss Granger her time spent forced in that odious man's company, Dumbledore, but I can only anticipate that any improvement to her mental strength, if it _is_ possible, would be minimal, and I think we can agree that my time and efforts are better spent elsewhere," Snape informed him unapologetically.

"On the contrary, Severus, your time spent with Miss Granger could be invaluable," Dumbledore said, a heaviness creeping into his voice for the first time that night, and Severus watched him carefully. "When attempting to break through her mental barriers, I will require you to glean what you can of her encounters with Antonin."

Severus's lip curled at the distasteful task. "What do you anticipate I will see?"

"If all is well it should be nothing more than a straight forward transaction of news of the outside world in exchange for Antonin's touch."

"And if all is not well?"

"I dread to think," Dumbledore muttered. "Antonin is a dangerous, slippery character and we must not underestimate him. Hermione wishes to fight his manipulations on her own terms but it would be remiss of me to not keep an eye on her welfare."

He glanced up at Severus and obviously saw the sceptical expression on his face. "You doubt the seriousness of the situation?"

"Unpleasant as it no doubt is for Miss Granger – " Severus began but, uncharacteristically, Dumbledore cut across him.

"You fail to see the wider consequences, Severus: the recklessness that Harry showed at flying, alone, across the country in the dead of night to ensure Hermione's safety, shows that the boy is too caught up in her fate. He blames himself for the events that led to the curse, of course, which doesn't help, but the fact remains that he would do _anything_ to protect her. Such a glaring vulnerability could easily be taken advantage of. If Voldemort learned that the fate of one of Harry's best friends was utterly dependant on access to Antonin, he would seek to remove his loyal follower from custody – something I expect he is planning anyway, along with the rest of the Death Eaters. Should that happen, I fear what decisions Harry would make to ensure Hermione's survival."

"You believe the fates of Dolohov, Granger and Potter to be so intertwined?" Severus asked.

"Alarmingly so," Dumbledore confirmed.

"And if you view Granger's dependence on Dolohov to be too much of a risk?" Severus posed, holding his breath.

Dumbledore looked at him sadly, the damned twinkle noticeably absent. "Wars are brutal, Severus, as you well know, and impossible decisions sometimes have to be made to ensure darkness does not reign victorious…"

Severus watched him closely, daring the old man to say what he seemed to be insinuating.

"Harry is our priority," the headmaster said with quiet conviction and Severus resisted the urge to sneer at the man's cowardice: he was prepared to sacrifice the girl's life but he wouldn't let himself say the words.

Though he showed no outwards sign, Severus was appalled. Irritating know-it-all though she was, Granger was one of the most talented witches he had ever come across and she certainly didn't deserve to be killed just because Potter couldn't keep his head. Did the boy not realise how much had been sacrificed by so many for him? How Dumbledore could even consider brutally disposing of the girl when Potter relied so heavily on her brains was beyond him. As far as he could see, the boy didn't stand a chance without Granger, and the Dark Lord would triumph anyway. What a waste. Were the best amongst them always destined for pointless deaths?

"So, you'll teach Hermione Occlumency when school resumes?" Dumbledore asked and, if he was aware of Severus' displeasure, he chose to ignore it.

Severus met his gaze unflinchingly. "As you wish," he said curtly and then swept from the office without a backwards glance.

* * *

A/N Thoughts?


	8. Chapter 8

A/N Hi guys. Sorry for the slow updates. Believe me, no one is more frustrated than I am with the delays. Thank you SO much to all of you who reviewed and I'm sorry I haven't had time to reply to you this time.

A couple of people asked why Dumbledore doesn't just move Dolohov to some secure Order hideout. I'm sure he would if he could but he's not in charge of Azkaban and its inhabitants. The Ministry might let Hermione visit and allow Dolohov his adapted cell but they're not just going to let the Order remove prisoners even if there's a very good reason for doing so.

I always like to update a fic on Hermione's birthday so I'm glad I was FINALLY able to get another chapter out of this one.

* * *

Antonin glanced out of the window as he felt the magic around his cell shift like it always did when it was being unlocked. The Ministry hadn't bothered to supply him with a clock and so he relied on the sunlight to determine the passing of the hours. It was too bright for it to be time for his evening meal and the only other reason his door was unlocked was to admit the mudblood. A thrill of anticipation swept through him but he didn't read too much into it: when your days were as isolated and uneventful as his, the chance to interact with anyone else - even if they be stubborn little Gryffindor bitches - was a notable and welcome break to the monotony.

That being said, he _was_ rather intrigued about how this latest visit would go. The last time she had consciously visited him, things had quickly deteriorated to a new low between them (obviously discounting their first real encounter in the Ministry when she'd jinxed him and he'd retaliated by trying to kill her). And he was still sure, even after the many days he'd had to reflect on it, that the reason Granger had let herself fall so deeply under the curse's effects was because of the ultimatum he had given her: call herself a whore or forego his touch. She may have stubbornly refused either option last time but he wondered what the outcome of this visit would be.

The door opened and she walked in, lowering her hood like normal, but her gaze was less apprehensive than he was anticipating. The auror stepped in too, her expression souring as her eyes swept over him before she left the cell again.

They gazed at one another impassively for a few moments, each trying to suss the other out. In the end it was Antonin who spoke first. "You know what I need to hear," he said expectantly, rising from the armchair and motioning for her to begin. "I'll even go easy on you - I won't make you get on the floor and beg like I said I would," he sneered.

Her cheeks were already flushed from the curse but her mouth tightened at his words. "I have a counter-proposal," she stated calmly.

Antonin tried not to let his surprise show. "I see. And you think you have something to offer that I would want?"

She reached inside her cloak and withdrew a stoppered potions vial that contained a purple liquid with a slightly pearlescent sheen. He was pretty confident that he could identify the potion and he was once again a little taken aback by her thinking.

"Yes," she said, watching his expression closely. "I think I do."

"Enlighten me," he requested silkily.

She took a small breath and said, "I'll give you this Dreamless Sleep potion if we forget any demands made during my last visit here - my last _conscious_ visit here," she corrected quickly and he smirked at her near slip-up. He certainly would have made her pay for that if she hadn't noticed her mistake - what self-respecting graduate of Slytherin house wouldn't?

"What makes you think that's even something I would want?" he asked, waving his hand towards the potion dismissively.

"You're in Azkaban," she stated simply, "the prison that you've been held in for almost all of your adult life where, until recently, you were forced to relive all of your worst memories. You might not be subjected to the Dementors anymore but I know everything about this place must haunt your dreams."

"Don't presume you know anything about what it's like in this hellhole, mudblood," he spat at her, the words she'd spoken hitting a little too close to home. She stood her ground though, clutching the vial against her chest as she watched him with her big brown eyes.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd managed to get a full night's sleep without experiencing the chilling nightmares brought about by the Dementors. Even in the few months he'd been freed from this shithole he'd still only been able to sleep for an hour or two before he woke up in terror. The only way he'd found to overcome it was to make sure he'd consumed an entire bottle of firewhiskey beforehand and even that was no guarantee of success. He wanted that fucking potion but he hated that Granger had been clever enough to think of it.

"Nice try but I'll pass," he sneered at her.

"But…" She faltered for the first time, her eyes widening and her face falling. He took some satisfaction from that.

"But what?" he mocked. "One potion? You can do better than that. What's your dignity worth to you?"

The angry spark returned to her eyes and her grip tightened on the vial. She pursed her lips together and then said, "One vial per month."

Antonin shook his head. "A large bottle of Dreamless Sleep per visit or you can forget it. I've gone years without that potion - I can take it or leave it."

She turned her gaze away from him as she deliberated over her choice and Antonin waited silently. "Fine," she agreed after a few moments, lifting her eyes back to his. "A large bottle of Dreamless Sleep potion every time I visit - and no more amendments to our agreement," she added on quickly. "I mean it, Dolohov, the games stop here." She was trying her best to sound firm and he was severely tempted to make a typical scathing comment but he managed to keep it in. If he was going to get Granger dancing to his tune, he had to start easing the hostilities. He'd shown her multiple times now that he had the upper hand, that she couldn't outsmart him. It was time to move things onwards - as long as he could keep his temper in check.

"No further changes," he reluctantly agreed, "but it doesn't get you out of having to tell me something too."

She didn't look surprised at this comment. "One bottle, _one_ piece of information," she stated firmly. "I tell you something well-known. You can ask me questions about it, but I can decide whether I want to reply or not and, if I don't, you can't withhold your touch from me."

He couldn't prevent his sneer at her stipulations but, honestly, he was just irritated that she was being so thorough. "Have it your way, mudblood," he said scornfully, stepping forward to snatch the potion out of her grasp. "Let's get this over with - I've better things to do with my time than suffer your presence." He laid the vial carefully on his bed and then turned back to her.

Her gaze was sweeping over his room and, as he watched, a frown settled onto her face. Antonin was almost tempted to ask what was troubling her about what she saw but he found he really didn't care. Instead, he closed the distance between them and his close proximity broke whatever thoughts she was mulling over.

"It's been a long time since I've heard news of the outside world," he reminded her, a little bit of his frustration at being so uninformed leaking into his tone of voice. "I hope you've got something good for me."

She fiddled with the clasp of her cloak and muttered, "I doubt that our definitions of 'good' news are the same." He smirked at her, silently validating her words, as she took off the cloak and laid it on the back of the armchair in which she'd unknowingly spent over two hours twined around his body a week and a half ago. Her attire was less revealing than her previous two visits but there was still plenty of her smooth, lightly tanned skin on display and he found that his fingers were actually eager to touch her. Antonin knew he should be revolted - he hadn't forgotten that she was a disgusting mudblood - but he'd spent too long in his own company and he didn't see the point in hiding the truth from himself. He liked the feeling of power that came with touching his little _zhar-ptitsa_ \- he _craved_ it. He had control over so little of his own life that his hold over her and the way she reacted to him was almost intoxicating.

"Karkaroff is dead."

He'd been so caught up in his anticipation that it took a moment for him to process her words. He'd never met Karkaroff - he'd never even heard of him until his escape from Azkaban - but he was glad that justice had been served to someone who had cowardly deserted the Dark Lord and his noble cause. "Good," he said shortly. "That's actually something we can both agree on."

Granger shrugged unenthusiastically. "I didn't like him but nor did I particularly wish him dead," she revealed.

Antonin had been internally sneering at her soft-heartedness as he closed the distance between them but he paused, holding his fingers a couple of inches away from her skin. She frowned, briefly glancing down to his stilled hands before returning her gaze to his face quizzically. "You met him?" he asked, wondering just how many Death Eaters she was acquainted with.

Unsurprisingly, she hesitated a moment before answering, "He spent most of my Fourth Year at Hogwarts. He was the Headmaster of Durmstrang School and some of his students were competing in a tournament at the castle that year."

He nodded and pressed his fingers to her forearms. She gasped softly and closed her eyes, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth and he wondered whether she was holding in a moan. He slowly ran his fingers up her arms but she tilted her forearms up slightly so that more of his hand made contact with her skin. He smirked slightly at her neediness and allowed her to get her relief from him.

After a few minutes of slowly moving his touch up and down the full length of her arms, he asked softly, "You only disliked Karkaroff because he was a Death Eater?"

She made a humming noise that he interpreted as a request to repeat his question. When he did, her eyes blinked open and she struggled to focus on him as she fought through the haze his fingers had created. "Is that not reason enough?" she countered, her face settling into a familiar suspicious frown.

"It sounded personal," he explained.

Her gaze was becoming ever more focused and it narrowed on him despite his fingers massaging into her flesh. "Why do you care?"

He stamped down his irritation with her antagonistic response. She was always so difficult but he knew that her caution was wise. "I am merely trying to pass the time," he lied sneeringly. "You might get some sort of pleasure from our encounters but I assure you it is not mutual."

She attempted to glare at him but he lifted his hands and slid them behind her neck so that he was touching her shoulders and upper back. She was unable to hold back the moan this time, closing her eyes at his touch, and Antonin smirked at his success. He couldn't deny that the sound of her moaning under his touch didn't have some sort of effect on him. For years, his libido had been non-existent in the presence of the Dementors but he had found a good fuck to be an excellent way to distract himself from his memories of Azkaban during his brief taste of freedom. He knew he couldn't take advantage of the young woman in front of him if he wanted to be conscious whenever she visited him so it helped that he was able to distance himself from her and the effect she had on his body thanks to her muddy blood.

"Karkaroff cheated," she said quietly a couple of minutes later. "He told Victor about the dragons."

Antonin frowned slightly at this confusing delayed response before he realised she was still talking about that damned tournament. He internally scoffed that her dislike had sprung from nothing more than a childish competition. The real world was going to crush her ideals very soon if the war turned out the way he hoped it did.

"And he didn't like me dating Victor," she added, though he wasn't particularly interested any more. "I thought it was because he suspected me of spying for Harry but if he was a Death Eater he wouldn't have liked me because I'm muggleborn anyway," she revealed slowly between sighs.

That was probably true - though Antonin knew that some of the Dark Lord's followers weren't overly driven to his cause because of Pureblood supremacy but were simply men and women who sought the power and influence the Dark Lord could offer them. Having never met Karkaroff and knowing little more about him that he was a traitor, Antonin didn't know what the man's motives had been.

"Whose side got him in the end: mine, yours or the Ministry?" he asked, watching her shiver as he traced his fingers along the back of her neck.

"The Ministry _are_ my side," she said as she glared up at him under her eyelashes.

"If you say so," he responded with a short breath of laughter.

She closed her eyes again but there was a frown on her face as she admitted, "There was a Dark Mark above his shack so probably yours."

"Probably?" he repeated, pausing his fingers. "Only the Dark Lord's followers know the incantation to produce his Mark."

" _If you say so_ ," she mimicked, her eyes opening again to look at him with a hint of mockery.

He paused his ministrations. "Explain," he said, careful to keep his tone even so as not to piss her off like he normally did. She said nothing so he removed his hands completely and crossed them over his chest.

She let out an exasperated sigh and put her hands on her hips. "You can't withhold your touch just because I didn't answer your question - we agreed, remember?"

"I remember," he replied grudgingly but he still didn't feel particularly inclined to touch her.

Much to his surprise, she reached out and, after a moment's hesitation, grabbed his hands. He barely refrained from jerking at the sensation of her delicate fingers taking the lead for once as they disappeared under the sleeves of his robes. He pushed her hands away, disliking her being the dominant one and reluctantly resumed his previous attentions to her neck and shoulders. A change of tactic was called for if he wanted to know the answer to his question.

"I don't believe you," he told her after a few minutes. She hummed a questioning sound and he explained, "About the Dark Mark. Only his loyal subjects know the incantation."

" _I_ know it," she sighed smugly and he stilled his hands in surprise. Whatever he'd been expecting her to say, it hadn't been that.

"You do not," he said firmly, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. "You couldn't possibly."

"I heard a Death Eater cast it. _Morsmor_ -" she began to say but he quickly clamped a hand over her mouth in alarm. Her eyes flew open at once and she attempted to push him away as she stared at him fearfully.

"You only say that incantation when there has been death," he told her solemnly as she continued to scrabble at his hand. "To say it when there has been none only invites death to pay you a visit." He removed his hand, only at that moment realising that she had been struggling to breathe.

Granger sucked in huge lungfuls of air and glared at him. "Rubbish," she spat. "He's made you as scared of his made-up sign as he has of his made-up name."

"And as I told you before, you _should_ be scared," he said lowly, fighting to keep his temper in check. "The next time you see the Dark Lord's mark in the sky with your own eyes and he's taken someone you love from you, I doubt you'll be so flippant."

She continued to glower at him as she got her breathing under control. "I don't think we should talk for the rest of this visit," she muttered.

"Agreed."

* * *

A/N It's shorter than I would want but the next scene I have in mind didn't fit well with this one at all - that's one of the reasons this chapter is delayed because I couldn't figure out how to make it work. Then I realised this scene would just have to be on its own as a sign of easing hostilities (finally!).

Please let me know what you think if you're still reading! Did Hermione do the right thing with her counter-offer?

Until next time,

Red


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Hooray! An update! _Finally!_ I really can't explain why this took so long. I kept coming back to this chapter, trying to force it out, and eventually I got there. Thank you for all your support. Your reviews really did inspire me to keep coming back to try and churn this chapter out.

* * *

Hermione held the summons tightly in her hand as she hovered in the Entrance Hall waiting for Tonks to arrive. The letter calling her to a meeting at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had arrived via owl during breakfast a couple days ago. She hadn't even been back at Hogwarts for a whole week and she was still trying to adjust to being in the school whilst living with her _condition_ (and all that it entailed), and she had a nagging concern that the meeting in the Ministry would also do her no favours. She had no proof of this, of course, but her view of the Ministry was very much tainted after the way they had treated Harry the previous year. There may be a new Minister in charge but she doubted that the system had changed that much since Rufus Scrimgeour had taken over the reins.

Next to her, Harry restlessly fiddled with a loose thread he'd managed to create in his brand new robes. After a few minutes of enduring his well-meaning but distracting presence, Hermione took out her wand and mended the damage to his robes. He shot her a look that was mostly grateful but also a little bit sheepish.

"You don't have to wait with me," Hermione told him. "Why don't you go down to the quidditch pitch and help Ron practise before next week's tryouts?" she suggested.

Harry shook his head. "Ron doesn't want me to help him now that we're back at school - he thinks it'll be seen as favouritism and he wants to earn his place fair and square," he explained. "Besides, I don't mind waiting with you. I'd go to the Ministry with you if I could."

The over-protectiveness that Harry had developed over the summer hadn't diminished, perhaps because he'd been vindicated in his concerns after her curse-induced attempt to get to Azkaban. Nothing like that had happened since but Hermione hadn't foolishly tried to avoid Dolohov when she needed his touch either. "Nothing's going to happen to me here or in the Ministry, Harry," she reassured him. Harry opened his mouth to argue her point but she quickly added, " _Or_ at Azkaban. I've told you: he's still Dolohov but he's nowhere near as bad as he used to be."

Harry pressed his lips into an unhappy line but didn't argue with her. His eyes flicked to something over her shoulder and his gaze hardened. She turned her head and saw Draco Malfoy emerge from the staircase that led down to the dungeons. Unusually, he was alone, and when he saw the Gryffindors lingering across the hall, he paused and then produced his typical sneer before continuing towards the marble staircase.

"Twat," Harry muttered, watching Malfoy's movements darkly. Hermione knew that her friend was still burning with anger and shame after Malfoy had discovered him spying in his train compartment during the journey up to school on the first of September. Based on what he'd heard whilst underneath the invisibility cloak, Harry had spent the majority of their first week trying to convince Ron and Hermione that Malfoy had joined the Death Eaters.

This wasn't a new theory on Harry's part because he'd raised the suspicion after the three of them had spied on Malfoy at Borgin and Burke's a few weeks previously. Back at the Burrow, she and Ron had been thoroughly unconvinced of Harry's arguments that Malfoy had shown the shopkeeper a Dark Mark on his arm in order to threaten him. After Harry overheard Malfoy's boasts in front of his friends linking himself to 'him', Ron still thought that Malfoy was just lying to show off but Hermione wasn't so sure anymore. If it was a lie, it was an awfully big one.

Their attention was removed from the back of Malfoy's head as Tonks stepped through the large door and softly called Hermione's name.

"Wotcher, Harry," the auror greeted as she got closer but Hermione noticed that it was said without her usual vigour. During the weeks of the summer holidays, Hermione had become aware that Tonks was much more muted and introspective, although she did a fairly good job of hiding her feelings whenever she spoke to Hermione. At first, Hermione had assumed that Tonks was mourning Sirius's death and battling guilt over her inability to stop Bellatrix Lestrange before she went on to kill him. Hermione had expected Tonks's feelings to pass with time but that didn't appear to be the case - if anything, she looked worse. Hermione and Harry were far too polite to say anything about her limp, brown hair or pale, drawn face though.

"Why does your department want to see Hermione?" Harry asked directly, not bothering with a greeting. Hermione frowned at Harry for his rude behaviour but Tonks didn't seem to care.

"They didn't tell me," she replied simply. "I don't even know which part of the department it is. I've been stationed in Hogsmeade all week - whatever the reason, they didn't put it in the message I got via owl."

That response didn't improve Harry's mood and also caused a flutter of nerves in Hermione's stomach.

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about," Tonks reassured, sensing their anxiety. "Come on - we're gonna travel via Professor McGonagall's fireplace. They're lowering the wards for just a few moments so we can go direct to the Ministry."

On the journey up, Harry and Hermione told Tonks about their first week back at school. Hermione got the sense that the auror wasn't really listening to her summary of her Ancient Runes lessons or Harry's complaints about Snape being made the DADA teacher.

An unsettled feeling slithered through her body at the mention of Snape. The previous evening she had experienced her first Occlumency lesson with him. She'd been quite surprised and more than a little anxious when Professor McGonagall took her aside to inform her of this new area of study after the start-of-term feast.

Over the course of the week, Hermione had re-read everything she could about Occlumency in her spare time and urged Harry to tell her all he could about his previous studies, but he hadn't been as helpful as she'd hoped. In fact, he'd been very critical of the arrangement but Hermione knew that Harry was blinded by bias when it came to Snape (just as the former Potions Master was towards Harry). If she'd expected Snape's behaviour towards her to change in any way, she was disappointed when he dismissed her answers to his questions in their first Defence lesson and showed no reaction when she was the first to successfully cast a non-verbal shield. She knew that Professor Snape didn't particularly like her despite her constant attempts to seek his approval with her potion-making, but she didn't think that he explicitly disliked her either. However, the prospect of him being able to access her inner thoughts, feelings and experiences made her feel physically sick. There were plenty of things that could embarrass her but also incidents that could land her in trouble: stealing ingredients from his cupboard in her Second Year and illegally using the time turner to free Buckbeak and Sirius. While he might ignore the latter, it wouldn't surprise her if Snape still punished her for the former offence all these years later.

And so, by the time she made her way to Snape's office on Friday evening, she had worked herself up into a rather panicked state.

Snape was still marking pieces of homework when he waved the door open upon her knock. She stepped in cautiously and closed the door behind her.

"If I specify that we are to meet at seven o'clock, do not presume that it shows good manners to arrive ten minutes early," Snape said without raising his head from the parchment he was inspecting. "As you can see, I am a busy man, Miss Granger, and I do not appreciate being interrupted in any tasks. If you arrive early in the future, please remain outside before knocking at the appropriate time."

Hermione just about managed to avoid wringing her hands in embarrassment. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry. Would you like me to come back in a few minutes?"

"No," he sighed, dropping his quill and finally raising his head to look at her. "You're here now, we might as well get this over with." He motioned to the chair in front of his desk and she quickly took a seat, clasping her hands in her lap. He surveyed her for a moment and then said, "What do you know of the art of Occlumency, Granger?"

Hermione swallowed nervously. "It's the act of magically protecting one's mind to prevent someone, a legilimens, from accessing it."

"No doubt you read that in a book," Snape said sneeringly, "but, in essence, your definition is correct. As far as I know, Dolohov is not a legilimens so explain why the Headmaster thinks it necessary for you to study Occlumency."

Hermione hadn't expected this. She'd been told that he was going to teach her Occlumency and that was that. Was this some sort of test - was Snape purposefully putting her on edge? "Because," she began and paused to moisten her lips, "because there are benefits to learning how to discipline my mind through Occlumency that can be applied to my situation." Her voice tailed off at the end, making it sound more like a question than the statement that she'd intended.

"In theory," Snape confirmed but his tone showed that he was doubtful of this. "I have been told that you can become distracted when Dolohov uses his touch to soothe the curse."

Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot. "Yes, sir. The relief is almost overwhelming," she said tightly. "I find it difficult to concentrate on anything. I'm hoping that having greater control over my emotions and mind will allow me to dissociate with the feeling he creates."

Snape gave her a long look before eventually saying, "Having both the willpower as well as the mental and emotional control necessary to succeed in this art is far beyond the ability of most witches and wizards." He paused and Hermione wondered whether he was insinuating a slight at her, Harry, or both of them. "One cannot succeed at Occlumency by reading about it and committing the words to memory." Her - he was definitely insulting her now. "It takes intense dedication to master such control of your mind; hours of practise beyond our sessions together."

"I understand, sir," she said, sitting straighter in an attempt to show him how seriously she took the opportunity.

"I doubt it," he muttered before reaching inside his robe for his wand. He stood up and motioned her to do the same. "Even though your situation does not involve intrusions from a legilimens, if you can control your mind to the extent where you can protect it from a direct attack from me, you should be able to apply the same method on your trips to Azkaban. Whether it will have the desired outcome or not remains to be seen."

Hermione nodded. "Do you have any advice about the most effective way to clear my mind, sir? The books I read offered little in the way of practical suggestions."

"Each mind is different," he replied. "What works for me is unlikely to be successful for you. Some think of locking distinct memories and emotions behind figurative doors or boxes in their mind, others might be able to draw on meditative teachings, some imagine walls or barriers and others erect false memories or emotions to hide what's within. You will have to choose the method that affords you the greatest control over your consciousness."

Hermione thought over his suggestions, anxious that she wasn't being given clear instructions about how to succeed, but it did make sense that different minds would respond to a variety of methods.

She could discount the meditative teachings straight away - she'd had enough of that in her brief foray into Divination to know that she wasn't suited to such a technique. Nor did she think that creating diverting thoughts would work if she didn't have a good control of her mind. Besides, that was more for someone who had something to hide from an attacker; it didn't apply to her situation.

To start off with, she decided, perhaps something simple like picturing a barrier in her mind would be best.

"Take out your wand, Granger," he instructed. "As we've already said, a direct attack of legilimency does not apply to your predicament but the principles of keeping a clear mind does. When I attempt to break into your mind, I want you to remain focused so that after a few seconds you can try and disarm me."

Hermione gripped her wand tightly, her heart hammering in her chest in dreaded anticipation, and tried to ready her mind with some sort of mental barrier to hide behind.

"Ready?" Snape asked and she gave a half-hearted nod. " _Legilimens!_ "

The tentative barrier she created didn't even last a second before her view of the office was replaced by images from her past. Most of them sped past too quickly for her to recognise but she could tell that they were all occasions where she'd been upset, scared or worried and therefore things she didn't want him to see. They also seemed to be going in a form of chronological order: they'd zoomed through the teasing she'd experienced in primary school for her bossy nature and unexplained magical incidents, then there was the troll in the girls' toilets, seeing Ron attacked by the queen on the giant chessboard, Harry taking on the dragon, meeting Grawp for the first time, being surrounded by Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries.

She had to get Snape out before he saw anything about her humiliating encounters with Dolohov. Instead of creating a barrier to just block his intrusions, she imagined propelling him backwards, forcing him from her mind. The exterior of Azkaban appeared before her eyes but they moved no further. She pushed harder at Snape's attack and reminded herself that she was really in Hogwarts, told herself to see what was really in front of her eyes. The office snapped back into her vision and her head throbbed painfully. She didn't even bother attempting to disarm him.

Snape's lip curled in dissatisfaction. "Well, I suppose it worked eventually," he said disdainfully. "If you're going to use a repelling method to find your focus then it needs to be stronger from the start. Lose your emotion: it only brings forth the memories you wish to hide."

It was infuriating but she knew he was right. Learning to control her emotions meant that she had to let go of them, but that was easier said than done. Snape might have years of practise distancing himself from what he felt and she suspected his personality was suited to doing so, but Hermione had always worn her heart on her sleeve.

She steeled herself to try again and attempted to convince herself that it didn't matter what Snape saw in her mind. She imagined enclosing her emotions in a sphere of her magic and then built up the resistance in her mind in preparation for Snape's next attack. She nodded to show that she was ready.

" _Legilimens_."

Hermione could feel the intrusion digging into her mind but she gritted her teeth and pushed back at it. As she fought, an occasional image would obscure her vision for only a moment before the office would blurrily come back into view.

" _Expelliarmus_ ," she choked out.

Professor Snape blocked the spell with ease and the intrusions in her mind stopped at once. She sunk into the chair and held a hand to her head in response to another wave of pain.

"That was a better attempt," he said unenthusiastically. "Though in truth, I expected more from you, Miss Granger."

Despite her throbbing head, Hermione flushed at his words. _No_ , she scolded herself, _don't feel anything_. _Be disciplined._

"Again," Snape said and she got to her feet. "Show me there's more to you than an ability to memorise textbooks."

Hermione would never openly glare at a professor she respected, but she came very close at those words. It was harder to disconnect to her emotions this time thanks to his comments and a small part of her wondered if that was why he had done it: to test her control.

"Three… two… one… _Legilimens_."

Draco Malfoy was calling her a mudblood. She was holding the mirror to check around the corner with Penelope Clearwater. Snape was calling her an insufferable know-it-all. Mrs Black's portrait was screeching insults at her.

Hermione rallied herself and shoved Snape away just like she'd done before but she kept enough of her consciousness in reserve to non-verbally cast an _expelliarmus_. Snape's wand clattered to the desk and he took half a step backwards. Hermione gasped at her efforts and held a hand to her temple. She knew her spell would've been stronger if she'd said it out loud but then she wouldn't have had the element of surprise.

Snape nodded once then picked up his wand. "Better," he said and there was the tiniest hint of approval in his tone that had her almost sighing in relief.

They had repeated the exercise a couple more times but she improved no further. Professor Snape had instructed her to practise clearing her mind of emotions a few times a day and Hermione had already done so twice since waking up. On reflection, her session with Professor Snape had been quite educational and not nearly as bad as she'd anticipated but that was mostly because she had managed to avoid showing him anything about Dolohov. She knew she'd still be mortified if he'd seen her reaction to the Death Eater's touch.

Hermione, Harry and Tonks came to a halt in front of the door to Professor McGonagall's office. Tonks knocked and the door opened at once. The Deputy Headmistress nodded expectantly at the women but gave Harry a questioning look.

"Well, I guess I'll see you later," he said glumly to Hermione, sticking his hands in his pockets.

Hermione nodded and squeezed his arm reassuringly. "If you start Flitwick's essay while I'm gone, I'll read it over when I get back," she replied quietly.

Harry didn't look very enthused by the idea but he bid them farewell and headed off in the general direction of Gryffindor Tower.

Professor McGonagall opened the door so that they could enter and then closed it behind them. "How long do you think this meeting will take?" she asked Tonks.

"Not long, I hope," the auror replied, "but I don't really know what it's about.

Professor McGonagall looked displeased but then she glanced at Hermione and her features softened. "Well, I'm sure it's nothing to worry about, whatever it is. And after that you'll go straight to the prison?"

Tonks nodded. "Our visits normally take no more than half an hour but it should be less considering it's only been six days since our last visit rather than the usual ten days."

After promising to organise some food from the kitchens for Hermione should she return too late for lunch, Professor McGonagall held out the pot of floo powder and each woman stepped into the fireplace to travel to the Ministry. Hermione didn't particularly enjoy travelling by floo but it was certainly convenient when she stepped into London a few seconds later. Even though it was a Saturday, the atrium was obviously much busier than when she'd been there a few months previously in the middle of the night. No one looked at her oddly because she was wearing a plain robe rather than her Hogwarts one and she saw people that didn't look too much older than her, hurrying between destinations.

After successfully passing through the security booth, Hermione stood in the empty lift with Tonks until they reached the right floor.

"Level Two," the voice inside the lift announced. "Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services."

"Isn't this the floor that Mr Weasley works on?" Hermione asked as they stepped into a corridor lined with closed doors.

"Yeah, Arthur works on the other side of the floor," Tonks confirmed. "We can go and see if he's in if you like - we've a few minutes until we're scheduled to meet Thicknesse."

"Oh, I'm sure he's very busy, I don't want to disturb him," Hermione replied. Mr Weasley had been promoted to head a new office which primarily confiscated fake protective spells and charmed objects that had sprung up in the wake of Voldemort's public return. Over the course of her summer, Hermione didn't think she saw Mr Weasley take a single day off.

"Arthur'll be pleased to see you," Tonks insisted with a dismissive wave of her hand as she set off towards a large oak door.

"I saw him less than a week ago," Hermione reminded her.

A different door was opened at the top of the corridor to reveal a tall man with long black hair. "Miss Granger?" he called, making both the women stop.

"Morning, sir," Tonks greeted with a slight inclination of her head before walking towards him. Hermione followed.

"Tonks," he replied courteously as the women drew closer.

"Hermione, this is Pius Thicknesse," Tonks introduced. "He's the new head of the DMLE."

Now that she was closer, Hermione saw that he was even taller than she'd thought. He had a short, neatly-trimmed beard that was streaked with silver, and glittering, intelligent eyes. She thought Thicknesse cut quite an impressive figure.

She held a hand out to him. "Mr Thicknesse."

"Miss Granger," he replied, his hand surprisingly cold as he shook hers. "I know it's a bit earlier than we'd planned but, if you have no objection, I think we should start our meeting now."

"That's fine, sir."

"Excellent." He escorted the women back down the corridor towards his office.

Hermione was surprised to find that the office wasn't empty and was completely stunned when she realised who the man standing beside the desk was: Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister for Magic. She had seen his face on the front of the Daily Prophet so often over the summer that there could be no mistaking it.

"Blimey," Hermione heard Tonks mutter under her breath as she entered the office behind her and then she said more clearly, "Morning, Minister."

Scrimgeour nodded at Tonks and then continued to stare at Hermione through his wire-rimmed spectacles. "Miss Granger," he greeted, also with a nod, "This meeting is nothing to be alarmed about, I assure you." His tone was quite business-like and did nothing to lower Hermione's sudden anxiety. He motioned to a couple of chairs for herself and Tonks to take, and then seated himself behind the desk with Thicknesse next to him. Hermione glanced at Tonks as she sat. The auror attempted to give her a reassuring smile but Hermione could tell that Tonks was wary of this turn of events too.

"I took the liberty of looking at your OWL scores before this meeting, Miss Granger," Scrimgeour said brusquely, lacing his fingers together and placing them on the desk. "Very impressive. Ten Outstandings," he said to Thicknesse, who showed mild surprise before both men returned their gazes to her. "Very impressive."

Hermione wasn't normally averse to a bit of praise if it was rightly earned, but she found his comments mildly excruciating. "Thank you," she said stiffly.

"And though you may not have achieved an Outstanding in your Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL, your participation in the battle with your friends in this building showed you are not afraid to do what needs to be done in our war to stop You-Know-Who," Scrimgeour continued. "As a former auror, I can safely say that you and your friends earned the respect of everyone in my old office - isn't that right, Tonks?"

Tonks raised a bemused eyebrow. "Er, yes, sir."

If the Minister was disappointed in her lack of enthusiasm then he didn't show it. "I honestly wish there was something we could do to reward you, Mr Potter and the others for your brave fight but, as I'm sure you can understand, it wouldn't do any good to publicise the fact that You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters broke into the Ministry and attacked a group of children."

Thicknesse nodded in agreement but Hermione said, "None of us would want any reward, believe me."

Scrimgeour raised a hand in acknowledgement of what she'd said. "And to add insult to injury you've been left to deal with the consequences of that unusual curse. How goes Dolohov's research?"

Hermione hesitated. "He _says_ he's making steady progress," she replied but Scrimgeour grunted at her tone.

"Yes, smart girl," he said approvingly. "Never trust a word that comes out of the mouth of a Death Eater. So, I take it that we can expect your visits to Azkaban to continue for some time?"

"Yes, Minister," she confirmed, not bothering to hide the unhappiness in her voice.

"As I anticipated," he nodded. "So I thought it best that we discuss the arrangements for your trips to Azkaban going forwards."

Hermione felt her eyes widen a little and Tonks shifted in her seat but neither woman said anything.

"You will turn seventeen on the nineteenth of September, will you not? Become an adult in the magical world?" the Minister asked and Hermione nodded. "We thought it might be suitable to get someone to train you up to take your apparation test early. Most of your peers would have to wait until after Christmas to get their licence but, all things considered and taking your magical ability into account, it seems like a smart precaution."

That's what this whole meeting had been about? Hermione tried not to let her surprise show. "That's very considerate of you, Minister."

"It's a small thing we can do to make your life a bit easier," he replied but he seemed quite pleased with himself. He took a few minutes to explain his proposal for her private lessons and handed over a piece of parchment that would provide the same information for the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall. "And, of course, this will all be undertaken with the utmost discretion," Scrimgeour assured her. "We don't want anybody asking questions that would be unsafe to answer, do we?" Before either of the women could answer, the Minister continued, "Of course not. No, no. Don't worry, Miss Granger - the Ministry are here to look after you, to stand by you in your time of need."

Hermione didn't quite know what to make of the Minister's overly cordial guarantees but, if the last fifteen months' close scrutiny of the Ministry's operations taught her anything, it was that they normally had an agenda beyond the obvious. However, she was unwilling to show her suspicions in case she offended the Minister for Magic and instead said, "Thank you, Minister."

He waved away her gratitude and looked around at all the occupants of the room. "In these dark times it is important that we stick together, is it not?"

Thicknesse nodded at once and, when Scrimgeour glanced over expectantly in Tonks's direction, the auror said, "Er, yes, sir."

"There, you see - a united front is how we're going to win this war," Scrimgeour claimed with a bright tone that seemed out of place given the state of the country. Hermione wondered whether the Minister was trying to convince her of the competency of his own Ministry, though she couldn't think why he was taking the time to do so when he had a war to fight. Scrimgeour motioned towards her again and said, "Well, we won't keep you any longer, Miss Granger."

Hermione got to her feet along with the adults, a little baffled by the necessity of this meeting and she could tell from Tonks's wry expression that she was similarly confused.

"I look forward to hearing how you're progressing," the Minister said as he shook Hermione's hand. "It'll probably be best to pop back here with Tonks when the time comes to apply for your licence, and then we can discuss updating security protocols at Azkaban and Dolohov's progress whilst you are here."

Hermione nodded and opened her mouth to thank the Minister _again_ but Scrimgeour continued before she could speak.

"Give my best to Mr Potter and the rest of your friends, won't you? I've never had the pleasure of meeting him, you know," he said with a casual air as he removed his glasses to clean the impeccable lenses on the sleeve of his robes. A thought seemed to come to him all of a sudden and he pointed his glasses at her. "Here's an idea: why don't you bring Mr Potter along on your next visit? We'd be honoured to have him here as a guest of the Ministry, wouldn't we, Pius?"

Hermione's gaze switched to the new head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as the beginning of comprehension began to dawn in her mind.

"Of course, Minister - we could give him a tour of the building, show him what we're doing to lead the fight against You-Know-Who," Thicknesse suggested and the Minister nodded as though this was a spontaneous idea. Hermione wasn't at all convinced.

She smiled tightly at the two men and neither of them seemed to notice that her goodwill didn't travel as high as her eyes. "Well, I'll suggest it to Harry, of course," she told them politely, while internally she doubted that she ever would, "but he really hates any attention being drawn to himself, so please don't be surprised if he turns your offer down."

Scrimgeour waved away her caution. "I'm sure you'll convince him to come along - we're all sticking together in this fight, remember?"

Hermione couldn't think of anything else to say so she just repeated her tight smile again and nodded. Tonks put a hand on her shoulder to steer her out of the office. The door clicked closed behind them and Tonks murmured quietly, "Not a word yet." Hermione hardly needed the warning: she wasn't going to start dissecting her meeting with arguably the two most important men in the Ministry when there was a very good chance they could be overheard anywhere within the building. Tonks squeezed her shoulder and attempted to fix a bright expression on her previously subdued face. "Let's get you to Azkaban, eh? It shouldn't take long today - you'll be back at the castle before you know it."

"Right…" In her shock at finding herself face to face with Rufus Scrimgeour, Hermione had temporarily forgotten about her impending visit to Dolohov. Given that she was still a couple of days away from when she'd usually start burning, Tonks was probably right in assuming that it would, mercifully, be a short trip. Hermione was also hopeful that, because she wasn't in desperate need of it, she wouldn't be blindsided by her feelings of relief this time. And, if she could keep her head, there were a couple of things she wished to discuss with him. "Azkaban it is," she agreed with no enthusiasm.

* * *

A/N: I know, I know, lots of you are going to be severely disappointed in the lack of Antonin but while he's shut up in Azkaban the world carries on without him. Next chapter we'll pick up right where we left off though.

I would love to hear your thoughts on how the story has progressed with this time jump, the occlumency and the Ministry.

Hopefully there will be another update soon.

Red

PS I've started posting a new Theo/Hermione fic (albeit that's very different in tone to this one!) but check it out if you've got the time :D


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